


Heart in My Hand

by Yen



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alpha T'Challa (Marvel), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, First Time, Forced Submission, Hand Feeding, Hiatus, Humiliation, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Omega Erik Killmonger, Omega Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Paddling, Punishment, Size Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22447423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yen/pseuds/Yen
Summary: When it comes to light that Erik is an omega, he is put under the guardianship of T'Challa, his closest alpha relative.T'Challa sees it as his duty to firmly and lovingly guide his wayward omega ward... all for Erik's own good, of course.---ABANDONED/INDEFINITE HIATUS.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/T'Challa
Comments: 64
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a very flimsy plot. The "plot" is mainly a convenient excuse for me to write many, many scenes of Erik getting spanked, fucked and lewdly tormented for various minor transgressions... all for his own good, of course :D 
> 
> Let's also pretend that all political issues have been discussed and resolved offscreen to everyone's satisfaction. 
> 
> On to the fic!

"We can still save you," T'Challa said desperately, cradling Erik to his chest. Even as the words left his lips, he could tell that time was running out. His senses, enhanced by the heart-shaped herb, told him that Erik’s blood was draining out of his body at a rate too quickly to be replenished. T'Challa could hear the slow, steady dripping of Erik's blood trickling out of the mortal wound in his chest, smell the copper-sharp tang of wet blood suffusing the air, hear the sound of Erik's heartbeat in between his pained gasps for breath - a panicked, desperate thumping that was already beginning to stutter and slow. If he didn't act quickly, even the marvels of Wakandan medical technology might not be able to save Erik. 

Erik laughed bitterly. It was a weak, wet sound, more a choked gulp of air than a laugh, and the sound of it sent a fresh chill of horror and guilt through T'Challa. "What, so you can lock me up? Nah. Just bury me in the ocean with my ancestors who jumped from ships, cause they knew that death was better than bondage." 

Erik’s words were like a knife to his heart. T'Challa inhaled sharply. He reached out helplessly in an instinctive, futile grab for his cousin, but it was too late. Erik was already collapsing to the ground. Even T’Challa’s enhanced hearing could no longer pick up the sound of Erik’s heartbeat.

 _NO_. 

A silent howl of rage and denial rang out in T’Challa’s mind. 

Erik would _not_ die here. Not when T’Challa still had breath in his body. 

He would _not_ allow it. 

Erik wasn’t in his right mind at the moment. He could rage at T’Challa for denying his dying wish all he wanted - _after_ T’Challa had saved his sorry ass.

T'Challa sprang into action. Crouching over Erik’s prone body, he yanked a bead off his kimoyo bracelet and inserted the small vibranium stone deep into the centre of Erik’s wound, his fingers reaching past the torn sinew and muscle to shove the bead into the wound in Erik’s heart. The vibranium in the kimoyo bead would work to stabilize the injury for the moment, just as it had done for Everett Ross, although T’Challa would need to get Erik to a medical facility as soon as possible before any proper healing could take place.

Ignoring the aches and pains in his bruised body, T’Challa swept Erik’s limp form up into his arms, then took off for the lift at a run. 

He only hoped that he wasn’t too late.

* * *

T'Challa wasn’t usually someone who paced, but there was so much nervous energy thrumming through his body right now that it was as if his feet had a mind of their own. Back and forth, back and forth he walked, pacing the length of the waiting room in their medical bay. 

Behind him, Ramonda and Shuri sat, both stony-faced. Ramonda had her arms crossed over her chest, while Shuri was staring at the door of the operating theatre as if she could burn a hole in it with her glare. She hadn't unstrapped her panther gauntlets from her wrists after her battle with Erik. T'Challa couldn't blame her for being on edge after Erik had so nearly killed her. 

Beside Ramonda and Shuri, Okoye and the rest of the surviving Dora Milaje stood on guard with their hands on the spears, arranged around the royal family in a neat formation of two lines. When on duty, the Dora Milaje were usually expressionless, but they seemed to be even more grim-faced than usual right now. 

Not a single one of the people in the room supported T’Challa’s decision to heal Erik. 

But T’Challa was the reigning king again, and the people here in this room, at least, were loyal enough to him to bite their tongues - for now. Still, it would be an uphill battle to show them that Erik could be trusted. 

T'Challa sighed internally, although he made sure that his expression didn’t change. Saving Erik has been an impulsive decision, one which was sure to cause upheaval in his own family as well as the rest of Wakanda. But it was not a decision that T’Challa regretted. He couldn't leave Erik to die on that mountain, not after everything that Wakanda had done to him. 

He couldn’t let that sunset they had watched together be Erik’s last.

T’Challa’s keen hearing picked up the sound of the surgeon's footsteps approaching before anyone else. He turned to face the doors of the operating theatre just as they swung open, and the doctor, a tall, lean and dark-skinned woman with greying hair, dressed in surgical scrubs, strode out. This was Doctor Asha Magoro, the royal family’s doctor. She had looked after their family for decades, and T’Challa had fond memories of the numerous times the kindly doctor had patched up him and Shuri up after one childhood mishap or another. T’Challa had full confidence in her abilities. If anyone could save Erik from the jaws of death, it would be her.

"How is he?" T’Challa asked the doctor, trying not to show how worried he was. 

"He still needs a bit more rest, but his condition is now stable. The knife wound was very deep, and it will take a while for him to recuperate. He should be fine when he wakes up tomorrow morning,” Dr Asha said. 

T’Challa heaved a quiet sigh of relief. He was the only one in the room who did so.

“Something else came up,” Dr Asha continued.

“What’s wrong?” Icy fear immediately seized T’Challa’s heart. Something about the doctor’s tone was slightly off.

“Oh, nothing went wrong, exactly,” Dr Asha said quickly. “It’s just - N’Jadaka is an omega.”

T’Challa inhaled sharply.

"What the fuck?" Shuri exclaimed. 

_"Shuri,"_ Ramonda said, but it was an automatic reprimand, and there was no heat in her chiding. “Are you sure about this?” Ramonda said, turning to the doctor.

“Yes, it came to light during one of our routine scans,” Dr Asha said. She continued to explain how they had discovered Erik’s omega status, but T’Challa was no longer paying close attention, so preoccupied was he by the doctor's earth-shattering revelation. 

_An omega._

This changed everything. _Everything._

He would never have guessed that Erik was an omega. Outside of annual heat, without a detailed medical examination, it wasn't immediately obvious whether a person was an alpha, an omega or just a beta - someone who was neither. And from the looks of it, Erik was a lone omega as well - an omega who wasn't under the care of an alpha guardian or mate. 

T’Challa thought quickly. This was _good._ It was an unexpected but very welcome development. With this revelation of Erik as an omega, he could already sense a shift in the people’s attitudes towards him. Even some of the Dora Milaje were starting to look a little more sympathetic, a little less hostile. It was well known that omegas who were not properly cared for by an alpha tended to act out. They were emotionally volatile, and without proper guidance from an alpha to provide them with the comfort and discipline that they needed, they would lash out, misbehaving in order to seek out the attention they craved; or alternatively, become neurotic or depressed without an alpha’s steadying influence. That was why omegas were usually cared for by their alpha relatives - their guardian alphas - after they had first presented, and then bonded off to an alpha mate once they came of age. No wonder Erik had been so lost, if he had been hiding his status as a lone omega all this time.

T’Challa said a quick internal prayer to Bast for his good fortune. Originally, it would have been an uphill battle to convince the council not to imprison or execute Erik. But allowances would be made for Erik’s behaviour, now that it was known that he was a lone omega. As Erik's closest alpha relative, T'Challa could make the case for Erik to be given into his guardianship. 

This wasn’t a situation that T’Challa had ever thought he’d face. Prior to this, he hadn't known that there were any omegas in his extended family, as his father’s brother had died without having children and his mother did not have any siblings. Omegas were rare, and even in Wakanda, there were only a handful of people who presented as omegas, none of whom were in the right age range to be considered a suitable mate for him. But T’Challa was determined to make this work. He would be the best alpha guardian to Erik until he could find a suitable mate for his new ward.

Now he just had to figure out how to break the news to Erik. T’Challa could only imagine how displeased his cousin would be when he woke up to find out that T’Challa had healed him against his wishes, and was now also his alpha in the eyes of the law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omegas are typically put under the care of an alpha guardian (their closest alpha relative), until they're of age to be bonded to another alpha mate. Alphas and omegas never manifest in the same direct family line (parent-child, sibling-sibling etc). This is a natural adaptation to prevent inbreeding.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik opened his eyes. 

He blinked, temporarily blinded by the glare of the white fluorescent lights shining down upon him. When his vision refocused, he could see that he was in a room with curved, sleek white walls, surrounded by some sort of futuristic off-white machines purring and flashing some sort of holographic display. 

This definitely wasn't heaven. Or hell, for that matter. 

Erik groaned aloud. 

_Fucking_ T'Challa. He had _told_ T'Challa to just let him die. 

Erik pulled himself upright to a sitting position on the bed, internally taking stock of himself. He was dressed in thin cotton pajamas which were only loosely buttoned, revealing a good portion of his torso. The wound in his chest where T'Challa had stabbed him was gone. In its place was a raised scar, spiderwebbing across the left side of his chest, directly over his heart.

"How are you feeling?" 

Erik turned his head towards the source of the voice. T'Challa, his blasted cousin, was sitting in a small sofa beside his bed, dressed in a form-fitting black robe with deep purple embroidery, with his arms folded across his chest. He looked perfectly composed, and not even a little bit guilty about ignoring Erik's dying wish. 

Erik gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said grudgingly. 

He _did_ feel fine. He wasn't in any pain at all. Save for the raised scar on his chest, the marvels of Wakandan medical science had somehow managed to cure his mortal wounds with barely a scratch left on him, and all within…

"How long have I been out of it?" Erik asked. 

"About half a day," T'Challa said. "It's eight in the morning now."

Erik knew that he really ought to be more angry at T'Challa for ignoring him and just going ahead to do whatever he wanted, but at that moment, all Erik could muster up was a deep sigh. 

"I told you I'd rather be dead," he muttered. 

It wasn't as if Erik were suicidal. But from the moment the Dora Milaje had taken up their spears against him, Erik had known that he wasn't getting out of this alive. He might have been able to hold off the Dora Milaje all by himself, but with only the support of Border Tribe - and not even that, in the end - he could never have held on to the throne of Wakanda, not without the support of the people. That was the moment that Erik had resigned himself to dying a glorious death in battle. A glorious death for a worthy cause - there were worse deaths than that. He had made peace with that a long time ago. 

Of course, T'Challa had to fuck that all up. 

When T'Challa didn't respond, Erik narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you gonna do now? If you think I'm going to let you lock me up -" 

Automatically, Erik's upper lip curled, and he bared his teeth in an angry snarl. The mere thought of being put into shackles, chained up behind bars like some _slave,_ made his blood boil. 

"You don't have to worry about that," T'Challa said earnestly. 

Erik snorted. "What, so everyone's just fine with it? Me killing that Dora? The coup - all of that - trying to take over the world?" 

"You did win the throne in fair combat, in accordance with our traditions," T'Challa pointed out. "And the Dora Milaje are sworn to be loyal to the throne of Wakanda, regardless of whoever holds it as King or Queen. All of your orders were issued while you were the rightful king of Wakanda. Despite this, there were still many factions in the council who were calling for your head - that was, until they found out what you were."

"They found out _what?"_ Erik said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

He was starting to get a very bad feeling about this. Surely they couldn't have - surely not - 

"That you're an omega."

Absolute silence followed T’Challa’s simple pronouncement. Erik's blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. For a heartbeat, his mind went completely blank. Then a thousand panicky thoughts whirled through his head at once. 

How, _how_ had they found out? That shouldn't have been possible. He had been so careful. For years, he'd taken all his heat suppressants as regularly as clockwork. He had hacked into the American database to erase all traces of his medical records, anything that could have possibly identified him as an omega. Erik knew only too well the fate that would befall a lone omega, an omega alone in a hostile country without an alpha guardian or bond mate. 

The healing. Of course - that's how they would have known. They would have found out about it while they were patching him up. 

Fuck. Fuck, this was _bad._

T'Challa continued to speak, "Once that was discovered, it was a simple enough matter to persuade the council to place you under my guardianship. Even the ones who were initially quite hostile now felt that you couldn't be fully blamed. A lone omega, without proper guidance from an alpha, lashing out at those around him -"

"Stop!" Erik snapped. 

T'Challa cut himself off mid-sentence, looking questioningly at Erik. 

Erik forced himself to take several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. It was very galling to be condescended to like this, to know that the rest of the Wakandans all thought of him as some sort of poor, lost little omega without an alpha, whose _hormones_ were making him _misbehave._ But Erik had heard people say such things about omegas all his life. He told himself to focus on the bigger picture here. 

"They want you to be my guardian alpha?"

"Yes," T'Challa confirmed. "I'm your closest alpha relative. It's only natural for you to be my ward until you find a proper mate." 

Erik inhaled sharply. If he'd been brought up in Wakanda (as he _should_ have been, he thought bitterly to himself), that would indeed have been the usual order of things. 

Some of Erik's unhappiness must have shown through in his expression, because T'Challa hastened to reassure him, "You will not be a prisoner. As my ward, you’ll be permitted to go wherever you want in Wakanda - under my supervision.”

"Your _ward,"_ Erik sneered. "You want to be my guardian alpha? You really expect me to just bend over for you?" 

“Yes,” T’Challa said. 

Erik’s inhaled sharply, his mouth falling open in shock. So surprised was he by that simple acknowledgement from T’Challa that he was momentarily rendered speechless. That hadn’t been the answer that he had been expecting from T’Challa _at all._

The expression on T’Challa’s face barely changed. But was it Erik’s imagination, or did T’Challa’s eyes seem… darker, somehow? His gaze was as steely as ever, but this time there was an edge to it that sent a thrill up Erik’s spine.

Erik swallowed hard. Fuck T'Challa. He had a lot of _fucking_ nerve if he expected Erik to just submit so easily. 

Erik opened his mouth, a cutting retort on the very tip of his tongue, but T’Challa was faster. 

“Let me clarify,” T'Challa said first. "Of course I don't expect you to just 'bend over', as you've so colourfully put it. I fully expect you to fight me at every turn. But you need an alpha - "

Erik snapped. The wave of fury that swept over Erik upon hearing those words was so intense that for a fraction of a second, he literally saw red. Erik didn't need an alpha, much less _this_ alpha. All his life, he had survived just fine on his own. 

"You fucking -!" 

Temporarily rendered speechless with rage, Erik lunged for T'Challa, his hands balled into fists. He wanted nothing more than to punch T'Challa so hard in his smug face that T'Challa would be the one lying in the hospital bed instead. If T'Challa expected him to put up a fight, Erik would gladly give T'Challa what he wanted. He was going to make sure T'Challa regretted it. Adrenaline pumped through Erik’s veins, sharpening his senses and sending an electric thrill through his entire body as he drew his fist back.

Then everything happened so quickly that Erik barely had time to blink. One moment he was lunging for T'Challa, fists up, and the next moment T'Challa had somehow sidestepped him, then spun around in a flash, whipping a hand out to grip Erik by the scruff of his neck. He caught Erik by the arms, twisting then behind his back in a very effective armlock. 

Erik stood frozen in shock for a heartbeat, stunned and completely immobilised. He strained against T’Challa’s hold, but pain shot up his arms whenever he tried to break free. The grip T’Challa had on him was firm and absolutely unyielding.

How could T’Challa have subdued him so easily? T'Challa had beaten him so quickly that it was just embarrassing. In their earlier fights, they had been almost evenly matched, but now T'Challa had moved so quickly that Erik could barely even see his motions. Faster than was humanly possible, thanks to the powers of the heart-shaped herb - powers which Erik realized, to his dismay, that he no longer had. 

Of _course_ the Wakandans would have removed the heart-shaped herb from Erik’s system while they were healing him against his will, even though Erik had won the throne _and_ the herb fair and square by T'Challa's own admission. Erik's heart wrenched at the unfairness of it all. 

"Let _go_ of me!" Erik began to struggle in earnest again, trying to wriggle free, so angry that he could barely even breathe.

The hand holding Erik at the scruff of his neck tightened. Erik went still as T'Challa's thumb pressed right against the soft, sensitive skin over his bonding gland. Suddenly, it seemed that all Erik could smell was T’Challa’s scent, T’Challa’s alpha pheromones flooding his nostrils. A gasp left Erik’s lips, wrenched out of him against his will as his knees went weak. 

_Fuck._ Why on earth was he reacting to T’Challa like this? Erik hadn't been so affected in any of their previous fights. But T’Challa hadn’t known that Erik was an omega back then, and he wasn’t flaring his scent on purpose, taking advantage of his alpha status to force Erik into submission.

And it was working. Erik just barely managed to hold back a whimper at the overwhelming presence of _alpha,_ his omega hindbrain purring in satisfaction at the way T’Challa was now softly stroking the base of his neck in an attempt to calm him down. It just felt so _good._ Against his will, Erik felt the tension drain out of him, his body automatically relaxing as he instinctively tried to lean into his cousin’s embrace.

 _No!_ He could fight this. He wasn’t some sort of mindless slave to his instincts. Erik bared his teeth again and began trying to squirm free, trying his best to ignore the maddening cocktail of hormones flooding his system. 

_"Stop,"_ T’Challa said.

Erik froze. The command, deep and authoritative, seemed to reverberate through Erik's bones, ringing through his entire body with the force of an earthquake.

The alpha's Voice. It was a manner of speaking meant for calming down difficult omegas, a way of soothing - and commanding - an omega, by modulating their intonation of voice in a way that omegas found difficult to resist. 

Difficult, but not impossible. Despite the compulsion to obey, to just stop fighting and give in to T’Challa’s offer to - to be his guardian, to look after him in every way which an alpha was supposed to provide for his omega - Erik just gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles again. 

“Erik, if you don’t stop trying to fight me, _you’ll regret it.”_

The same Voice, but this time, the dangerous silky purr, that undertone of threat in T’Challa’s words struck right to Erik’s heart. A chill swept through him at that promise of dire punishment, but that was quickly swept away by the red-hot fury. How _dare_ T’Challa think he could just push Erik around like that? 

Erik strained against T'Challa's arms, defiantly trying to kick back with his feet in the way he had been taught to break out of holds during Marine training. 

A heartbeat later, T'Challa had somehow twisted them around and bent Erik over by the waist. Erik experienced a sudden moment of disorientation as he found himself bent over the bed, his groin pressing down against the top of T'Challa's thighs as T'Challa sat down on the mattress and then pulled Erik over his lap. It all happened so inhumanly quickly that it was simply impossible for Erik to fight back. All Erik could do was gape down at the floor, suddenly extremely aware of just how exposed and vulnerable his current position was. His cheeks burned with the humiliation of finding himself face down and ass up, bent over his alpha cousin's lap. 

With a sinking feeling, Erik realised what was about to happen to him. 

Panic set in, panic and rage and denial. _No! This couldn't be happening to me!_ Desperately, he made a final, futile attempt to struggle free, but T'Challa was simply too strong, and in this vulnerable position, pinned in place over T'Challa's knee, Erik couldn’t even kick back at T’Challa or twist around to hit him. When he threw an arm behind his back to try and shield himself, T'Challa just twisted it behind Erik and pinned his arm to his lower back. 

"Fuck you!" 

The first sharp slap across Erik's ass rang out through the room, the sound of it cracking through the air like a thunderclap. Heat radiated out from the patch of skin which T'Challa had struck, heat and a not-unpleasant tingling sensation, much like the sensation of sinking into a bath filled with water that was just a touch too hot. 

Erik yelped out loud, more out of shock and embarrassment than actual pain. He couldn't believe that T’Challa was - T’Challa was actually _spanking_ him. Not very hard, but still forceful enough to leave a lingering sting, a frisson of pain which went straight to Erik's groin and made his cock twitch with interest. He was treating Erik as if he were some unruly omega who needed to be taken in hand. That thought made him flush all over with rage and mortification. 

And, oh God, the worst part was how much Erik _liked_ it. The next firm slap across the fullest part of Erik's ass cheeks drew a bitten-off whimper from his lips at the heady mixture of pain and pleasure flooding through his body. He struggled and bucked hard in an effort to get free, but all he succeeded in doing was to rub his hardening cock against the the top of T'Challa's thighs. The resultant moan from Erik at the delicious friction against his cock couldn't be mistaken for anything other than a moan of arousal.

 _Fuck._ After this, he would never be able to look T'Challa in the face again. The thought sent another wave of mortification crashing over Erik and set off a fresh bout of squirming and struggling to get free. A litany of angry invective spilled forth from his lips, curses and dire threats to kill T'Challa and his entire family if he didn't let Erik up this instant. 

In response, T'Challa simply increased the forcefulness and frequency of the smacks landing against his ass. Within moments, the intensity of the spanking had Erik gasping and whimpering despite his best efforts to remain stoic, too breathless to even think about trying to insult T'Challa. The lightweight, thin cotton material of the hospital gown offered barely any protection against the flurry of spanks that T'Challa was dealing out, hard smacks that drove all thoughts of defiance out of his mind. His ass bounced beneath each punishing smack of T'Challa's palm as the heat in his buttocks built to a fiery crescendo. T'Challa was really making good on his promise to make Erik regret it. 

For some reason, the pain of the spanking didn't damp Erik's arousal in the slightest. Fuck! Erik hadn't even _known_ that he had this kinky side buried deep within him. He was getting wet now, so wet that he was sure that T'Challa would be able to smell it on him, maybe even see the telltale stain of his slick through the thin cotton gown. With his enhanced senses, there was no way that T'Challa wouldn't be able to tell. 

Erik wanted to die of embarrassment. He was more painfully aroused than he had ever been before in his entire life. If T'Challa didn't stop soon, he was going to come all over himself and T'Challa. He couldn't take it anymore. 

Then T'Challa's hand stilled, the smacks no longer raining down against his heated ass. He let his palm rest over the skin that he had just warmed, then began to rub lightly across the surface of Erik's skin, drawing a fresh, broken whimper from Erik. 

But it was only a momentary reprieve. Erik barely even had time to catch his breath before T'Challa started to reach for the hem of his hospital gown, drawing it up over his hips. 

A thrill of absolute horror made Erik's blood run cold. He was acutely aware that he hadn’t been given anything to wear beneath the gown, and the only thing protecting his modesty right now was the flimsy scrap of cotton fabric of his gown - fabric which had been almost soaked through with his slick. 

Erik’s cheeks burned hot with humiliation. "No, stop!" he protested. 

"Don't pretend you don't want this." T'Challa's voice was firm, but there was a light touch of amusement in it that made Erik flush hot again. 

Without warning, and before Erik could protest further, T’Challa yanked the hem of his gown all the way up, exposing the heated flesh of his ass to the cool air of the hospital room. Erik’s whimper of mortification was abruptly cut off when he was manhandled onto the bed, T'Challa pushing him up off his lap as he got to his feet. A heartbeat later, Erik found himself positioned on all fours on the bed, face down and ass up, knees bent and legs spread wide with his hips tilted up. Hands gripped firmly onto both sides of his hips, pinning him in place. 

T'Challa was going to fuck him. And Erik couldn’t truthfully say that he didn’t want it. He was so wet that even he could smell the sweet scent of his own slick permeating the air, so hard that he felt like he would burst if he didn't get any friction around his cock. When T'Challa wrapped a hand around the shaft of Erik's cock, Erik's moan of bliss was so shameless that it even made himself flush. 

"N-nnnn - _ohhh-"_

Erik wanted to tell T'Challa to stop, one last shred of pride in his lust-addled mind somehow managing to assert itself, but his feeble protest trailed off into a groan of pleasure at the sensation of T'Challa's cock nudging against his hole. He began to grind back eagerly against T'Challa's cock, heedless of the little sparks of pain ignited by the contact of his tender ass cheeks against T'Challa's groin. T'Challa was ruining him and he hated it. He loved it. Erik had always taken pains to avoid having sex with any alphas, for fear that his omega status would be revealed, and now that he realised what he had been missing out on, he never wanted to live without it again. T'Challa's alpha scent filled his nostrils, driving him wild with lust. All Erik wanted to do was to spread himself for T'Challa, to be split open on the alpha's hot, hard cock. No one else would be able to fuck him as well as an alpha could, to make him cry out and beg for more from the mere touch of his cock against Erik's hole. 

Erik keened out loud as T'Challa thrust in to him, one sharp, forward snap of his hips as he sheathed himself fully in Erik's ass. Erik's breath left his lungs in a gasp. Stars exploded before his eyes at the sensation of the thick, hard cock spitting him wide open, the sweet burn of penetration making his toes curl. T'Challa was so _big,_ bigger than any beta man he'd slept with before, big enough that Erik thought he could feel T'Challa rearranging his insides. His hole clenched down greedily at the thick alpha cock within him, helpless little moans falling from his lips as T'Challa began to fuck him hard. 

Each thrust of T'Challa's cock deep within him, each time T'Challa's groin made contact with the spanked-warm skin of Erik's ass, Erik let out a fresh cry of pleasure mixed with pain from Erik. He was so wet that there was an audible, lewd squelch whenever T'Challa thrust hard until him. Erik hadn't wanted any of this, but if T'Challa dared to stop now - to stop touching him, stop fucking him - he would kill T'Challa with his bare hands. Ecstasy flooded through his body as T'Challa rutted hard into his body, jerking Erik back by the hips to meet each of his thrusts so that Erik was pinned into position on his cock, unable to squirm free even if wanted. _Fuck!_ It felt incredible, so overwhelmingly pleasurable that Erik knew he would never be able to stave off his orgasm before T'Challa knotted him. 

Erik came untouched on T'Challa's next thrust, his vision whiting out with pleasure as his cock jerked and spilled his seed onto the bedsheets, just a few, scanty spurts of come characteristic of omegas. T'Challa continued to fuck him through his orgasm, heedless of Erik's desperate whines and thrashing to get away from the overstimulation. Omegas didn't have a refractory period like alphas, and Erik knew that T'Challa wasn't going to let him off until he had been fully satisfied as well. 

Erik let his pliant and well-fucked body slump down against the bed, his hips still raised up and clutched tight in T'Challa's grip so that T'Challa could fuck him properly. Erik let out another small, plaintive whine again, h s hands twisting and tugging at the bedsheets. His hole beginning to feel sore and oversensitive. Despite how wet he was, he hadn't been fucked by an alpha before, and the constant stimulation by T'Challa's huge alpha cock was beginning to be a bit too much to bear. 

As if reading Erik's mind, T'Challa leaned over Erik to nuzzle against his neck. A shudder went through Erik's body at the sensation of the alpha's lips brushing against the soft, sensitive skin at the base of his neck. His body went limp and pliant as he let out a sigh and relaxing into T'Challa's hold, even though T'Challa was fucking him just as hard as ever. 

Erik could feel the base of T'Challa's cock beginning to swell now. The knot tugged at the rim of Erik's hole at the ebb of each thrust, keeping T'Challa's cock firmly locked within Erik's ass. It was a natural adaptation to keep the alpha's come within the omega's body to increase the chances of pregnancy and a successful breeding. The discomfort built within Erik as T'Challa's knot began to swell, and he began to squirm at the relentless increase in pressure as T'Challa's knot continued to expand, forcing his walls apart and putting pressure on the sore rim. 

With a grunt and a final hard thrust, T'Challa tightened his hold on Erik's hips and then sheathed himself fully within Erik, his knot expanding fully to keep them locked together until he had pumped himself dry. It was huge, so huge that Erik couldn't help but cry out loud at the overwhelming sensation of _pressure,_ of warm come flooding through his insides, so much more than any of his previous partners ever had. He had never been knotted before, and the sensation of pressure, pain and _pleasure_ was simply too much. Dark spots danced across Erik's vision as he gave himself over fully to the waves of warmth and pleasure wracking his body. His cock jerked again, and he bucked and came one more time, hard, almost dry this time, just from the sheer pleasure of being knotted by an alpha for the first time. 

Before Erik could catch his breath, T'Challa manhandled him easily into a sitting position, pulling Erik back onto his lap. Erik gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of the knot shifting within him, T'Challa's cock shifting but not sliding out. He whimpered at the discomfort as his sore, spanked ass made contact with the top of T'Challa's thighs, but he quietened down as T'Challa began to nuzzle him again, kissing his cheeks and the side of his neck, soothing and gentling him as a proper alpha should. 

As the fog of lust faded and Erik started to come back to his senses, there was only one thought that filled his mind. 

_Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because sex is a common, acceptable method of disciplining omegas, Erik is indignant but doesn't feel traumatised or violated, no more than he would have been if T'Challa had made him write lines or stand in the corner. He's mainly just annoyed with himself, and also at T'Challa for besting him so easily.

Erik was discharged from the medical bay the same morning. T’Challa was there to pick him up.

Erik didn’t exactly have any better options, so he had no choice but to follow behind T’Challa as they made their way to T'Challa's quarters. He was unusually subdued, slightly dazed and burning with shame and humiliation, still feeling the sting from the earlier spanking and fucking. When T'Challa had finally pulled out of him just now, Erik had cleaned himself up as best as he could, but he thought that he could still feel a few warm drops of T'Challa's seed running out of his wrecked hole, down the insides of his thighs. And the slightest pressure at the top of his thighs, where they joined the base of his reddened ass, reignited a warm throb with each step that he took. It was an intimate, shameful kind of pain that lingered, making him acutely aware of just how thoroughly T'Challa had ruined him. No doubt Erik had suffered worse injuries before, but the spanking  _ stung _ in a way which made him squirm internally with mortification whenever he was reminded of it. 

He had rebuffed all of T'Challa's attempts earlier to soothe away the hurt, but now Erik ached to reach behind himself and squeeze, to try and rub away the lingering sting. But that would be an admission of defeat on a whole other level, and every cell in his body rebelled at that idea. The memory of how T'Challa had just - had just bent him over,  _ spanked _ and  _ fucked _ him as he'd pleased was already bad enough. He still couldn't believe that T'Challa had bested him so easily. He had sliced through Erik's resistance as easily a hot knife through butter. Erik had spread his own legs and practically begged for it. 

Hot shame and indignation roiled in the pit of Erik's stomach. Anger, shame and, worse, a sneaking suspicion that if T'Challa tried to bend him over a second time, his inner omega would just mewl and show its belly, spread for T'Challa and beg T'Challa to fuck him again as hard as he pleased.  _ Fuck!  _ He was weak. Weak, a slave to his own base desires for an alpha to take him in hand. 

He had to - he had to find a way out of this. Erik considered his options. Perhaps he could try to kill T'Challa again - but no. Even if he succeeded in assassinating T'Challa, he would never be able to hold on to the throne of Wakanda, not when he had already lost one coup. What little public goodwill he had left would have immediately evaporated the minute everyone discovered that he had been hiding his status as a lone omega. 

Or maybe he could try to escape Wakanda? Hide out in America, like his father had done two decades ago? But Erik knew, deep down, that it would never work out. He had seen firsthand how advanced Wakanda’s technology was, and it would be child’s play for T’Challa to track him down again. Worse, now that the entire population knew that he was an unclaimed omega, all the eligible alphas in Wakanda would be after him. It would just be a matter of time until he was overpowered and forcefully claimed, and by someone who would be a completely unknown element.

As much as Erik hated to admit it, he knew, deep down, that he would be safer by T'Challa's side. T'Challa wasn’t cruel or sadistic. He was unlikely to abuse Erik or take advantage of him - well, not beyond what an alpha guardian was entitled to from his omega ward. Certainly T'Challa hadn't been above disciplining Erik by force if necessary. The memory of the punishment he'd been subjected to earlier flashed into Erik's mind again, and he winced. But that hadn't been a serious punishment so much as a show of force, really - a demonstration to Erik of who was in charge. Intended to make him submit, but not to hurt or cow him. Not many other alphas would have been that careful. Erik knew that. And if he was honest with himself, that had been the hottest sex he'd ever had. He just wanted to be fucked by that alpha cock again. 

The thought made Erik flush hot with embarrassment.  _ Fuck! _ He was behaving exactly like the needy, cock-hungry omegas that he has always looked down on, the lust-addled omegas who needed their alphas to keep them in line. Heedless of the pain, Erik quickened his steps, as if trying to run away from that memory. All the while, he continued to think, weighing his options. 

Staying with T'Challa really did seem to be the best possible course of action right now. No other alpha would dare lay a finger on an omega under the king's guardianship. Erik could simply play along, hide behind T'Challa as a shield while he bided his time, waiting for the right opening to make his move. If he just laid low, behaved himself and acted like a good omega for T'Challa - 

_ NO! _

Aghast at the sudden,  _ horny _ direction his thoughts had taken, Erik gave himself a mental slap. He needed to stop thinking with his dick. He forced himself to relax, taking deep breaths as he pictured the least sexy images that he could dream up, hoping that T'Challa hadn't noticed his sudden spike in arousal. 

If he had, T'Challa gave no reaction to it. A few more moments passed with no outward reaction from the alpha, and Erik gradually began to unwind. 

_ No.  _

He wasn't going to just bend over and be a good little omega. Erik would make sure that T'Challa regretted his foolish decision to become Erik's guardian alpha. He resolved to be as difficult as possible until T’Challa gave up on him of his own accord. 

He didn’t need any alpha, least of all  _ T’Challa,  _ the man he had hated all his life.


	4. Chapter 4

T’Challa’s room was the biggest in the palace, and so luxuriously furnished that Erik had to actively work to keep from gaping at the sight of it like an idiot. During his short reign as king of Wakanda, he hadn't slept in the king's master bedroom, out of paranoia that T'Challa might have left behind a few booby traps lying in wait for anyone who successfully managed to overthrow him during the ritual challenge. It was what Erik himself would have done. 

Now Erik looked appreciatively around the room, taking it all in. The king’s bedroom was at least as large as an averagely-sized flat. The furniture was futuristic, all curving silver vibranium and sleek glass surfaces, and the bed pushed up against the centre of the far wall was  _ huge,  _ fitted with dark purple satin sheets and piled high with fluffy pillows and blankets which looked sinfully soft. 

The problem was, there was only  _ one  _ of it. Did T’Challa expect them to sleep together in the same bed? 

“Make yourself comfortable,” T’Challa said. His tone was casual, but his eyes were dark and very sharp.

Erik bared his teeth, his hackles rising. It was still morning, far too early to go back to sleep. If T’Challa thought that Erik was just going to tumble into bed with him again, he was crazy.

“We're not - we're not gonna fuck again,” Erik said defiantly, his blood burning with indignation. "That was just that one time." One time of poor judgment on his part. The next time T’Challa tried anything with him, he was going to break T’Challa’s neck, or die trying.

T'Challa merely looked amused. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything just then,” he said lightly. “But I think you’ll come around eventually.”

“The hell I will!" Flustered, Erik fought back his automatic flush of embarrassment, as the memory of his earlier protest rose unbidden in his mind. He had been equally adamant less than an hour ago, but somehow he had ended up knotted on T’Challa’s dick.

To his relief, T’Challa didn’t mock him or press the issue further. Instead, he began walking towards the other end of the room. Erik tracked him with a fixed, wary gaze, but all T’Challa did was pull up a chair, sitting a good distance away from Erik.

Erik continued to eye him warily, not letting down his guard. Dealing with T’Challa was so exhausting. If he didn’t remain constantly alert, who knew what T’Challa was going to do to him? 

But having some distance between them helped, and as T’Challa continued to remain where he was, making no motion to approach Erik, some of the tension started to drain out of Erik’s body. Erik walked to the other end of the room, towards the bed so that they were separated by the entire length of the room. He sat down at the edge of the bed, then immediately inhaled sharply and stiffened as his ass made contact with the surface of the bedsheets, the pressure reigniting the warm sting in his buttocks.

_ Fuck! _ Had T'Challa noticed that little flinch? Erik cursed himself for that humiliating show of weakness. Even if T'Challa still hadn't shown any outward reaction yet, there was no way he hadn't picked up on it. Back when Erik still had the powers of the heart-shaped herb, his senses had been so keen that he could hear an ant crawling on the wall in the next room. 

"Erik -" T'Challa began, his voice low and gentle. 

'What?!" Erik snapped, all his nerves on edge. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists, twisting the bedsheets beneath his fingers.

"Perhaps we can start over," T'Challa said. His tone was still low and soothing, but there was a difference this time - a change in his intonation, an almost-purr which seemed to resonate in the very marrow of Erik’s bones. Erik shivered, and a muscle in his jaw clenched.

"Don't use the Voice on me," he said quickly. "Stop  _ fucking _ with me. I told you, I don't want - I don't need - I don't need an alpha." 

The last time he'd fought back against T'Challa on this, T'Challa had spanked him for it. This time, though, T'Challa made no move to approach him. He continued sitting in his seat, his expression relaxed and calm, leaning back against the back of the seat in a gentle sprawl. He seemed to be making every effort to appear non-threatening, but Erik wasn’t fooled.

“Oh?” T’Challa said mildly.

“Yeah, I've done just fine without one so far,” Erik said, eyes sparking with challenge. Even as the words left his mouth, Erik was aware that it was only a half-truth. There were many dark nights he had spent curled up into the smallest, darkest corner he could find - the corner of a room or the back of a cupboard, nestling at the very back with the few blankets and pillows he could scrounge up in a sad imitation of a proper omega nest that an alpha would have built for him. The nights spent spiralling into a toxic tornado of self-doubt and loneliness and  _ loss,  _ craving that missing something in his life, aching for something that he couldn’t even put into words. 

Not until he’d met T’Challa.

Erik quickly shoved that traitorous thought out of his mind.

“How did you do it?” T’Challa asked.

Erik hesitated. He had tried to throw himself into his cause, ignoring his own needs in favour of something bigger than himself. Ever since his father had been killed, he had worked himself to the bone, signing on to the army as soon as he was of age in order to gain the training and skills that he would have needed to beat T’Challa. Being in the army had helped, a little. In a way, the structure and discipline of the military had somewhat satisfied that deep, yearning void within him, one that he had always tried to deny. But, if Erik was honest with himself, it had all just made him even more miserable in the end. 

“I had more important things to do,” Erik said instead. “Besides, there’s no  _ evidence  _ that omegas need alphas. What they all say is just a bunch of old wives’ tales. Trying to make us seem clingy and desperate -” Erik broke off mid-sentence cutting himself off just in time as he realised that he was beginning to sound defensive. He didn’t want to seem  _ too  _ much in denial. 

T’Challa smiled slightly. “Do you want to know what they say about omegas in Wakanda?"

"What?" Erik was curious despite himself. 

"I consulted a few people about what to expect," T'Challa said. "Omegas are quite rare - there aren’t many omegas in Wakanda, and I’ve never had any personal experience interacting with one before. I asked my friends, family and elders for advice. 

“Most of them were quite sympathetic. The general consensus was that you couldn’t really be blamed for what you had done when you first arrived in Wakanda. You were acting out because you didn’t have proper alpha guidance in your life -”

Erik snorted. "Acting out?" 

That phrase really glossed over his numerous crimes. Being treated like a misbehaving child was condescending  _ as  _ fuck, but hey, if being an omega was some sort of get out of jail free card in Wakanda, he wasn’t above taking advantage of it.

T’Challa continued, “- And you’ve been neglected and unloved, which is very bad for an omega's psyche. Omegas in particular need a lot of love and affection -”

Erik spluttered. "I - I don't - the  _ fuck  _ I do!"

T'Challa's expression remained perfectly neutral. 

More shaken than he would have liked to admit, Erik made a violent cutting motion through the air, indicating for T'Challa to continue speaking. 

"- And finally, that you’ve been making a fuss to get attention, most likely because you aren’t being sexually satisfied,” T’Challa finished. 

Erik’s jaw dropped. Outrage, indignation and a bone-deep cringing embarrassment warred within his chest. There were so many things wrong with that statement that he didn’t even know where to begin. 

_ “Not sexually satisfied?  _ I’ll have you know that I - that I - what the fuck, it’s none of y’all’s fucking business! Who the  _ fuck  _ said that? I’m going to kill them. No wait, never mind. Don’t tell me - I don’t want to know.” Erik shuddered. The thought of some dried-up, wrinkled old elder, or his Aunt Ramonda, or worse,  _ Shuri, _ speculating about his sex life (or lack thereof) was deeply unnerving. Just the thought of it made his face heat up again. He scowled, getting to his feet and balling his hands into fists, but suddenly T’Challa was standing right in front of him.

Erik inhaled sharply, his heart rate spiking with the shock of it. So  _ fast.  _ He hadn’t even seen T’Challa move. One moment T’Challa was lounging in the straight-backed chair at the far end of the bedroom, and the next moment he was standing before Erik, springing forward in one swift, graceful motion like a panther coiling and lunging for his prey. T’Challa was now standing so close that he was almost nose to nose with Erik, and suddenly all Erik could smell was the scent of  _ alpha _ overwhelming his senses. 

T'Challa put out a hand, placing the flat of his palm against Erik’s chest. Erik could hear the blood thumping through his veins, his heart pounding so hard that it felt like it might leap out of his chest. Everything narrowed down to that one warm point of contact between them - T'Challa's palm on his chest, over his heart. 

“Don’t you think there might be some truth to that?” T’Challa purred.

He wasn't using the Voice this time, but the words nevertheless struck at Erik with the force of a thunderbolt. Unbidden, the memories sprang to his mind of those cold nights he had spent alone, with nothing but his hatred and his grief for company. The heats he had gone through drugged to the gills with suppressants, with fire and agony blazing inside his bones, forcing back tears as his entire body burned for an alpha’s touch.

“I - no.”

Erik’s voice trembled on the last word, and he squeezed his eyes shut in denial. The tenderness in T'Challa's expression was so terrible, so unbearable that he couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. 

“I’ll take care of you,” T’Challa murmured. “You know I will. Erik. Look at me.”

In a fit of pique and just to be contrary, Erik deliberately fixed his gaze on the blank spot on the far end of the wall over T’Challa’s shoulder. He took in a deep breath to steady his voice and sneered, “Take care of me? You spanked me!” 

“That’s a part of it, yes. You need discipline. Guidance.” A sly grin crossed T’Challa’s face. “And I know you liked it.”

“Okay, you know what,  _ fuck  _ you -” 

The next flare of scent from T’Challa was so intense that Erik’s knees literally grew weak. His legs buckled, and it only took a little push from T’Challa before Erik was falling back against the bed, sitting down heavily against the soft, yielding mattress. A gasp escaped Erik’s lips as his warm ass made contact with the surface of the bedsheets. Erik flinched, and T’Challa, damn him,  _ laughed,  _ his eyes sparkling with amusement. 

The sight of T”Challa’s eyes, framed with long dark lashes and crinkling with amusement momentarily make Erik’s heart skip a beat.  _ No!  _ He wasn’t going to fall for that. Heat rose in Erik’s chest, heat and indignant outrage that T’Challa was manhandling him  _ again, _ doing whatever the fuck he wanted without regard for Erik’s wishes, acting just like the tyrant that Erik knew he was, regardless of the kindly, kingly facade that he liked to put up. Erik had seen right through it from the start.

He tried to get up, but T’Challa was pushing him flat on his back. Erik’s head spun with disorientation as he looked up at the gilded, arching ceiling, which was suddenly blotted out by T'Challa looming over him. He tried to shove T’Challa off, but T'Challa easily pinned him down, placing his hands on Erik's wrists and kicking Erik's legs apart. With T'Challa's body weight pressing down on him, Erik just couldn't shrug him off. 

T'Challa began to nuzzle down the column of Erik's neck. Erik shivered at the sensation of T'Challa's warm, wet breath tickling the sensitive skin above his bonding gland. Erik's head fell back, exposing more of his throat and he let out an embarrassingly breathy whine as his eyelids fluttered shut. 

_ Fuck. _

He shouldn’t be leaning into T'Challa's touch like this. He really, really should tell T’Challa to just fuck off.  _ Fuck!  _ Was he really going to just spread his legs and get fucked again, not ten minutes after swearing to himself never to submit to T'Challa? 

Erik grasped for his rage, his hatred for his cousin, tried to remember how T’Challa had humiliated him not even an hour ago. But for some reason that familiar emotion of righteous anger was somehow, out of his reach. Instinctively, Erik relaxed under T’Challa’s touch, sighing and then almost purring in pleasure as T'Challa ran his hands down Erik's body, teasing him back to full arousal again. 

No. He was stronger than this. He didn't need - he didn't  _ want _ T'Challa. But try as he might, Erik couldn't block out the sweet, seductive words that T'Challa was now murmuring into his ear. 

"I'll take care of you," T'Challa promised again. "As a proper guardian. I'll look after you, in  _ all _ the ways an omega deserves from an alpha, until you find your eventual mate." 

T'Challa's tongue darted out to lick a warm stripe around the hell of Erik's ear, and Erik moaned, high and soft, his toes curling from the intoxicating pleasure of it, basking in the glow of being at the centre of this handsome, gorgeous alpha's attention. Deeply buried instincts burst through the heat-addled fog that had settled over his mind. This was a good alpha. A good, strong alpha, promising to give him whatever he wanted, just as he deserved. Suddenly Erik was overwhelmed by the yearning of it all, by just how badly he wanted to be pampered by T'Challa, to be cherished and petted, to be fucked so hard that he saw stars. Erik whimpered. 

"Let me suck your cock," T'Challa purred, his voice so deep and filthy with lust that it was practically a growl. T'Challa's hand, stroking Erik's groin languidly under the hem of his robe, closed over Erik's cock, and Erik cried out with the heat and pressure of it. 

Without waiting for an answer, T'Challa leaned down. He drew the hem of Erik's robe up, over his thighs and then his hips, ignoring Erik's ineffectual attempts to bat his hands away. 

_ What would be the point of saying no? _ Erik thought to himself. His resolve was crumbling. T'Challa was strong enough to do anything he wanted to Erik. That thought made the omega in him wriggle in secret delight. Surely it would be better to just go along with it, and get what pleasure he could out of T'Challa?  _ He _ would be the one taking advantage of T'Challa, not the other way round. 

The logical part of Erik knew that he was just rationalising, teetering on the brink of giving into his lust. He was going to regret this when he came back to his senses. But it was too much. He couldn't resist the sight of T'Challa leaning down between his spread thighs, hands spreading his legs open and looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

Erik shifted his legs wider to accommodate T'Challa's body, thrusting his hips up towards T'Challa. He was so wet that T'Challa would be needing to change the sheets later. The spreading spot of dampness beneath his ass would have been uncomfortable at any other time, but Erik was now too aroused to care. His cock jutted out before him, hard, swollen and needing attention. 

T'Challa's mouth closed over the tip, and Erik cried out, his vision almost whiting out in pleasure at the sensation of warm, wet heat around his cock. T'Challa took him all the way down to the root in one practiced swallow, sliding his lips down the thick shaft until his nose was almost touching the curls at the base of Erik's groin. 

Unbidden, a small flash of jealousy surged within Erik's chest. Where had T'Challa learned how to suck cock so well? Had he practiced this on some other omega? Erik tightened his hands in T'Challa's short curls, heedless of his potential discomfort, and deliberately fucked into T'Challa's mouth with a hard snap of his hips. 

It didn't seem to bother T'Challa one bit. His head bobbed up and down the shaft of Erik's cock, sucking at him just hard enough that it was almost painful, pausing in between strokes to tease and lick at the glans - the sensitive head of Erik's cock. He seemed to know, almost instinctively, how to do it just the way Erik liked. Erik groaned in pleasure, giving up on the idea of punishing T'Challa and just letting the waves of pleasure pulsing through his cock sweep over him. T'Challa fondled him too, teasing at the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thighs and playing with his balls, sending lightning sparks of pleasure through Erik’s veins, up Erik's spine. 

When T'Challa brushed the tip of his finger against the rim of Erik's hole, Erik tensed up and gasped. He still felt sore and stretched out from the prior knotting. But the spark of pain radiating out from his ass made the pleasure feel even sharper.

"Like that, yeah," Erik gasped out, tightening his hands in T’Challa’s short curls. He began to thrust up into T'Challa's mouth with shallow thrusts, chasing the sweet suction as T'Challa panted heavily around his cock, the vibration from his grunts thrumming up the shaft and making Erik's toes curl with pleasure. He had been a fool to try and push T’Challa away. T'Challa looked glorious like this, looking as satisfied as the cat that got the cream, sucking on Erik's cock like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. 

Erik stroked the pad of his thumb over T'Challa's cheek, tracing the outline of his hard cock beneath. Fuck, this was _hot_. His breathing became shallower and more urgent as T'Challa continued to suck him, his head bobbing up and down on Erik's cock as lewd, filthy noises filled the room. The air was thick with the heady scent of alpha pheromones, spurring on Erik's arousal and sending him spiralling ever deeper into ecstasy. Pressure was building up in his groin now, the familiar feeling of his climax approaching. Erik tightened his grip in T'Challa's hair in warning. 

"I'm gonna come," Erik managed to say, the words coming out of his lips in a breathless gasp. 

T'Challa didn't pull off. The muscles in Erik's thighs tensed and went taut, and he stiffened as he came down T'Challa's throat with a choked cry, pulse after pulse of come that was sucked dry, not a single drop of it leaking out of the corners of T'Challa's lips. 

T'Challa continued to swallow around him, the suction almost too much to bear around Erik's sensitive cock. The pleasure was unbearable. Erik squirmed, whimpering, as he tried to push T'Challa off his softening cock. 

"Enough," Erik gasped out. "Please!" He sounded like a complete wreck. 

T'Challa finally lifted his head, carelessly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Erik slumped limply against the pillows. T’Challa’s beard was dripping wet with Erik's slick, and as Erik watched, dazed and exhausted, the tip of T’Challa’s tongue darted out of the corner of his lip, a slow, languid lick that sent a shudder up Erik’s spine.

He was so fucked. 


	5. Chapter 5

Erik felt as if someone had wrapped him in a big ball of cotton wool. His thoughts were slow and sluggish, hazy ideas drifting through the soft warm fog of his mind. But he felt so delightfully snug and comfortable right now that nothing could bother him. 

Nothing, except - 

"Finally awake?" a familiar voice said from somewhere on Erik’s left.

T'Challa. Again. 

Erik kept his eyes shut. He took a deep breath, then let out a long, slow exhale, trying to pretend that he was still asleep. 

“I know you’ve woken up,” T’Challa continued, sounding quite amused now. 

Erik didn’t bother to ask how T’Challa could have known. Giving up the pretense, he opened his eyes and stretched his limbs, holding back a groan as his joints cracked, and then made himself sit up.

T’Challa was sitting on the bed beside him, scrolling through some sort of display projected from his kimoyo bead bracelet. A plate of tropical fruit - cut up mango, papaya and watermelon - was propped up on his lap, and as Erik blinked blearily at him, T'Challa delicately picked up a small slice of mango with his fingers and then popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly licking the sweet juice off his fingers after he swallowed the piece of fruit. 

Erik's heart rate spiked. He took a deep breath and forced himself to act like he wasn't affected. 

“Had a good rest?” T'Challa's tone was friendly, but his dark brown eyes were bright with amusement.

It had been the best sleep that Erik had had in ages, but he wasn’t about to tell T’Challa that. T’Challa had practically fucked him into unconsciousness again after sucking his cock earlier. The alpha was really insatiable. Erik had a pretty high sex drive, but even he couldn’t keep up. He wondered if it was a side-effect of the heart-shaped herb. Erik hadn’t felt any difference in his arousal levels back when he was on it, but maybe the herb worked differently on omegas. Or maybe alphas like T'Challa really were just  _ that _ horny all the time.

Erik didn't bother to answer T'Challa, letting his sullen silence speak for itself.

“Come here,” T’Challa said, patting the empty spot beside him on the bed. 

It wasn't spoken like a command - T'Challa didn't sound particularly imperious or demanding - but Erik knew an order when he heard one. Defiantly, he remained where he was, glaring sulkily at T'Challa. 

T'Challa set the plate of fruit down on the bedside table, then reached out towards Erik. Before Erik could react, he found himself abruptly scooped close to T'Challa, pulled in tight so that he was curled up by the alpha's side. 

"Hey!" Erik protested. And then,  _ "Ow!"  _ as T'Challa smacked him lightly on his ass, a sharp, brief swat with his open palm. 

A warm stinging heat radiated out from Erik's right ass cheek, pain which faded away in seconds. That had been more of a warning tap than a punishment spanking, but a hot flush of embarrassment still lingered on Erik’s cheeks even after the initial flash of pain had faded away. Indignant, Erik made a brief effort to squirm free, trying to roll away from T'Challa, but it was just a half-hearted struggle. He already knew from past experience that T'Challa was simply too strong to fight off. 

"Stop struggling." T'Challa leaned his head down and gave Erik a light warning nip against the side of his neck. Erik froze as the alpha's sharp teeth grazed shallowly against his skin. At the same time, T'Challa's hand descended upon the spot that he had just spanked, soothing him with gentle stroking rubs.

"Shh," T'Challa murmured, almost cooing at him. "It's all right." He mouthed at the stinging skin on Erik’s neck where he'd scraped his teeth, then pressed a soft, warm kiss against the side of his neck. 

Despite himself, Erik shuddered, then went still. It was somewhat alarming how quickly his resistance faded away into resignation, how he only bristled just a little before he submitted to being fondled by T'Challa, to being kissed and stroked and petted. Being manhandled like this no longer sparked the same white-hot fury that he'd felt at the start. It was too pleasurable. It just felt so damn  _ good, _ what with T'Challa's hands stroking and petting his ass, T'Challa pressing tender kisses and long, languid licks up the side of his neck - one of Erik's favorite erogenous zones. His omega hindbrain was preening in delight under T'Challa's attentions, relishing in the show of authority followed by warm affection. 

Erik only grumbled a little under his breath before allowing T'Challa to arrange his limbs as he pleased, so that Erik was leaning against the side of his body, curled up into the crook of his arm. 

T'Challa shifted beneath him, reaching out for the plate of fruit that he'd set aside earlier. He balanced it on his lap, then delicately picked up a small slice of mango between two fingers, lifting it to Erik's lips. 

Erik's eyes widened. He knew what was expected of him, but still he hesitated, fighting back the instinct to just open his mouth and take a bite. It was a little galling to be treated as if he couldn't even feed himself.

"Come on," T'Challa said, his voice soft and coaxing. "Open up. You'll like it. This is from our freshest harvest, taken directly from the royal gardens." 

He nudged the slice of fruit against Erik's lips, and Erik couldn't suppress a tiny shiver. His resolve wavered at the sight of the mango before him, golden in its temptations, at the sound of T'Challa's voice, a low and husky purr that went straight to his cock. T'Challa wasn't using the Voice on him right now - his cousin hadn't used his Voice ever since Erik had complained about it - but T'Challa was right on the verge of doing so now, and Erik could tell. There was an undertone of a purr in T'Challa's voice which rumbled through the deepest recesses of his mind, setting his instincts aflame. For one terrible, glorious moment, he wanted nothing more than to yield sweetly to T'Challa, to accept everything that the alpha had to offer.

"I can feed myself," Erik snapped, petulantly batting T'Challa's hand away. 

The piece of fruit slid out of T'Challa's grip, landing on the floor with a wet squelch as the ripe fruit burst into a squishy yellow mess. If not for T'Challa's quick reflexes, the entire plate of fruits would have followed suit as well. 

Erik froze, his heart sinking in dismay. 

"Now look what you've done," T'Challa said softly.

"It was an accident!" Erik protested. He fought down his unreasonable feelings of guilt and panic.  _ Alpha is angry with me,  _ a small voice wailed at the back of his mind. 

Erik ruthlessly quashed it and began looking for an escape route, but T'Challa was too fast. There was a small, brief scuffle, and then Erik found himself pinned face down and ass up on the bed.  _ Again. _ For the second time that day. The unfairness of it all made Erik yowl in indignation, and he began to twist and struggle, trying to get out from under T'Challa. But he was held down too securely to manage more than a futile wriggle. 

"I know, I know," T'Challa said, smoothing one warm hand over the swell of Erik's ass. Erik sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. He couldn’t see T’Challa’s face right now, but T'Challa didn't sound angry. If anything, he seemed fondly amused. "You didn't really mean it. But this wouldn't have happened if you weren't being such a brat."

Erik's splutter of outrage was cut off by the first loud smack against his ass. Four more quick swats were delivered, two against each ass cheek, leaving him breathless from the speed and decisiveness in which T'Challa had so efficiently taken him down. Heat bloomed across his face and a tingling warmth spread across his ass as the humiliating sound of the skin slapping against skin rang out through the room. 

Then the pressure on his lower back disappeared. 

_ Was that it?  _

He was somewhat surprised that T'Challa had gone so easy on him this time. Nothing really hurt, except for his pride. 

He seized the chance to scramble free before T’Challa could change his mind. Erik quickly rolled over, making sure his ass was out of the line of fire. He scowled up at T'Challa, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the beginnings of arousal. "Fuck you!"

T'Challa merely placed the plate of fruit back onto his lap, looking completely unruffled. "Sure you don't want to try some?" 

"…" 

Erik wanted to tell T'Challa to fuck off again, but for some reason his lips just couldn't seem to form the words. Before he could react, T'Challa picked up another slice of mango, nudging it against Erik’s lips. 

The sweet, tropical scent of the fruit hit Erik’s nose when he inhaled, and a few drops of the juice smeared across his lips. Just the barest, tantalizing hint of sweetness, a prelude to so much more. 

Maybe the spanking  _ had  _ made him more pliant, no matter how much Erik wished to deny it. This time, Erik’s lips parted without resistance, and T’Challa placed the mango in his mouth.

Erik inhaled sharply. Sweetness exploded over his tongue, the juice filling his mouth as he bit down on the soft piece of fruit. It was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life. Sweet and tangy with just a hint of creaminess, perfect in its flavour and aroma, leaving behind an aftertaste of a light, barely noticeable sour squeeze on his tongue after he’d swallowed. 

An almost orgasmic moan of bliss slipped out of him before Erik could stop himself. T'Challa's smile widened. 

Erik bristled. If T’Challa did anything like call him a  _ ‘good omega’  _ right now, or praised him for  _ ‘being obedient’,  _ Erik was going to sock him right then and there, regardless of how hard he would be spanked after. 

But T'Challa didn't say anything condescending. He merely picked up the next slice of fruit, a cut piece of sunset-orange papaya this time, and lifted it to Erik’s lips. 

Erik continued to glare at T’Challa, but this time, he barely hesitated before opening his mouth to accept it.  _ Mmmm.  _ The flesh of the fruit was soft but not mushy, just the right amount of firmness to indicate that it wasn’t overly green or over-ripe. It was sweeter than the mango he had eaten earlier, with no tangy aftertaste this time, just a pure, rich creamy burst of flavour in his mouth. 

Erik subtly shifted closer to T'Challa, relaxing against T'Challa as the alpha continued to hand-feed him. T’Challa was practically radiating waves of approval as Erik continued to eat out of his hand, occasionally flicking his tongue out to lap the droplets of juice off his finger. It was so  _ good. _ Not just the fruits - the knowledge that his alpha was providing for him, making sure that he had enough delicious food to eat, keeping him fed and comfortable. A purr rumbled deep in Erik's chest, a vocalisation of deep, primal satisfaction that bubbled up from within his very core. 

The omega part of Erik could sense T'Challa's approval settling gently over him, like a warm, snug blanket being placed over his shoulders. It was so satisfying on such a deeply primal level that Erik panicked. 

Why was he letting this happen? He  _ hated  _ T’Challa, Erik reminded himself. He didn't want any of this. Hadn't he resolved to be as difficult as possible not even an hour ago? 

Erik shifted irritably. “I’m full,” he lied, pushing T’Challa’s hand away. But he did it gently this time, not wanting to risk another punishment.

T'Challa raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Yes!” Erik snapped. He leaned away from T’Challa. "And don't - don’t stare at me like that,” he muttered. Having T’Challa’s attention completely focused on him like that, feeding him and - and  _ cuddling  _ him, as he gave Erik that look of soft approval - it made Erik squirm internally. He hated how much he liked it. It was disgusting. "Go back to whatever you were doing just now, before I woke up." 

T'Challa shrugged, then set the plate down on the bedside table. 

A small part of Erik was secretly disappointed that T'Challa had just given in so easily. Surely T’Challa had to know that he wasn’t being entirely honest. Was he really going to just stop feeding Erik? Erik hadn't even tried all the different fruits on that plate yet. He sneaked a longing glance at the little nectarine left over on the plate, glistening with juice and looking incredibly tasty. 

The rest of his mind quickly shouted that traitorous bit of himself into submission. Erik put on a neutral expression as T’Challa thumbed a bead on his kimoyo bracelet, initiating the projection of a holographic display before him. 

Erik lay down and did his best to ignore T’Challa, forcefully steering his thoughts away from the annoying alpha and the tantalizing plate of fruits on his bedside table. Images and text scrolled up on the display as T’Challa skimmed through it. From his side of the bed, Erik couldn’t really see what T’Challa was reading about, but he certainly seemed engrossed.

Minutes passed. 

Erik coughed once, experimentally, a small, barely-audible clearing of his throat. 

T’Challa didn’t react. 

The silence stretched. 

Erik considered reaching over T'Challa just sk that he could grab that tantalizing plate of fruit, but then T'Challa would probably try to feed him again, and he absolutely did  _ not _ want to put up with that (Erik told himself). He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his side. 

T’Challa continued to ignore him for several long minutes, absorbed in whatever he was doing on his kimoyo beads. 

Erik finally snapped. He could no longer pretend that he wasn't bothered. Being the centre of T'Challa's attention had been uncomfortable, but T’Challa just doing his own thing, almost as if he didn't even  _ care, _ was so much more aggravating. If he wanted to be Erik's guardian, he could damn well act like it, instead of treating Erik as if he were invisible. 

Erik clenched his teeth and sat up abruptly, turning towards T’Challa. “What'chu looking at?” Erik asked aggressively.

T’Challa lowered his wrist and looked at him from over the top of the holographic display, appearing completely unperturbed by Erik's rude tone. “Just doing a bit of online shopping.”

“Huh.” Erik blinked. He wouldn’t have thought that T’Challa was the type of person who shopped online. Didn’t he have servants to handle this sort of thing for him? He tried to picture T’Challa getting back to his room after a long day of whatever kingly shit he usually did during the day, and then curling up in his bed to browse the latest listings on Amazon. Did Amazon even ship to Wakanda? Or did Wakanda have its own equivalent of Wakandan Amazon?

Erik sidled up towards T'Challa, his curiosity somewhat piqued. “Shopping? For what?" He peered at the display in front of T'Challa. 

"Omega sex toys," T’Challa said.

Erik's jaw dropped. "The fuck?"

In response, T'Challa tilted his wrist so that Erik could see the display as well. The projection showed a website displaying an array of wildly filthy sex toys. Knotting dildos, vibrators and anal plugs, wicked-looking spanking implements - straps, canes and paddles, the sight of which made Erik wince and clench, all the way up to fantastically elaborate sex benches that promised to  _ "hold your partner in the perfect position for a gangbang!"  _ Erik boggled. 

"There's nothing to be shy about," T'Challa said, sounding amused as Erik sputtered. 

"I'm not  _ shy," _ Erik protested, feeling his face heat up with mortification. How had he found himself in this situation? "It's just - why are you looking at this shit? Omega sex toys?! It's none of your fucking business!" 

"I'm your guardian alpha, Erik," T'Challa said patiently. "It _ is _ my business to make sure that you're sexually satisfied." 

Erik was temporarily rendered speechless. His eyes widened in horror as T'Challa's finger hovered over an image of a monstrously large black dildo, one that was ribbed up and down the shaft and which was labelled _ "ten inches, vibranium powered. Lasts for decades!"  _ It was  _ pricey.  _

"Are you crazy? Don't get that one!" Erik protested, making a lunge for the kimoyo bracelet before T'Challa could add that beast of a dildo to his cart. There was no way that would fit in him. Even trying to imagine it made his hole pucker.

T'Challa shifted his wrist out of Erik's grip. "Don't grab at me," he admonished. 

Erik tensed at the reprimand, but T'Challa made no further move to discipline him and was now turning back to his shopping instead. To Erik's relief, he scrolled past the big dildo without a second glance.

"I won't get anything you don't like," T'Challa said earnestly. "I'd like to have your input -" 

"No!" Erik interrupted. He couldn't think of anything more embarrassing than being forced to pick out sex toys together with T'Challa so that the alpha could use them on him. Bast, the very idea made him cringe with mortification. 

"I don't care. Just - just get whatever you want," Erik muttered. It didn't look like he would be able to dissuade T'Challa from buying at least a few sex toys. "Nothing that big, for fuck's sake. And don't buy the gangbang bench!" 

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to get that," T'Challa said. "I certainly don't intend to share you."

The sudden tinge of possessiveness in T'Challa's voice made Erik stiffen, a shiver running down his spine. He tore his gaze away from the sex toys to sneak another glance at T'Challa. But T'Challa's expression didn't change as he scrolled through the site. 

_ I must have imagined it, _ Erik decided. 

"They'll be arriving in a few hours,," T'Challa said. He shut off the projection and got out of bed. "I have a council meeting in the meantime. Do you want to come with me?" 

Erik swallowed. He wanted to say yes, but - it was now public knowledge that he was an omega, and everyone would expect T'Challa to - to fuck him, to discipline him, to basically do whatever he wanted to keep Erik in line. It was what they would all be thinking whenever they looked at him. Erik squirmed internally. This was so humiliating. 

But he couldn't hide here in T'Challa's room forever. 

Erik gritted his teeth and stood up abruptly. He wasn't going to be intimidated by a bunch of gossipy old fucks. "Whatever. Let's go." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grins* I'm taking suggestions for omega sex toys to be used on Erik.


	6. Chapter 6

Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the throne room. 

Heads turned towards them as they entered. Erik kept his head up and his face haughty and expressionless, showing no trace of his inner turmoil. He would never back down in front of them, no matter what they thought about him, or what they thought about omegas. 

The room was much the same as he remembered, centred around a curved vibranium throne surrounded by a ring of low seats for the representatives of the other tribes. Flanking the throne were rows of Dora Milaje, none of whom seemed very happy to see Erik. Well, they weren't usually very expressive when they were on duty, but behind their looks of disinterested professionalism, Erik could see the fires of rage burning in their eyes. No doubt the Dora Milaje were still sore about Erik killing one of their own less than a week ago. 

Erik hid a smirk. There were some perks to being under T'Challa's guardianship after all, chief of which was that he was now untouchable by his old enemies. Served them right. Traitors, the lot of them, turning against him even after he'd won the kingship fair and square. Their oaths weren't worth the paper they were written on. 

T'Challa sat down gracefully on the throne, and Erik took the empty seat to his right. It set his teeth on edge, this very visible, very galling reminder that he was no longer the king, and definitely no longer T'Challa's equal - just his omega ward. In the eyes of the public, he was practically T'Challa's bitch. Erik could feel the weight of everyone's stares on him: judgmental, condescending, calculating. At a glance, It was immediately apparent that the councillors who had been most supportive of him during his short reign had all been purged from the council. W'Kabi, in particular, was nowhere to be seen, and the new Border Tribe representative was someone that Erik had never even met before. All the people in the throne room were loyalists to T'Challa's regime. Erik knew that he had no friends here. He shifted irritably in his seat. 

He was already in a bad mood before T'Challa called for the meeting to begin. As they launched into a discussion of the rebuilding and outreach efforts, Erik rolled his eyes and leaned back against his seat, slouching in a manner which he knew would get on the nerves of those stuffy old councillors. 

True enough, one of them wrinkled their nose in Erik's direction and shot him a dirty look. Erik stretched lazily and grinned openly at the offended man until he turned away. 

Erik sneaked a glance at T'Challa out of the corner of his eyes, watching for his reaction. There was none. 

Emboldened by the lack of remonstration, Erik kept alert for the next opportunity to piss them off. 

\--

T'Challa had a good temper, Erik would give him that. Or perhaps he was just reluctant to call Erik out on his insubordination in public. Either way, Erik managed to get in a full five minutes of sneers, sarcastic laughs and snide remarks before T'Challa finally snapped.

"Excuse us, please," T'Challa said, as he stood up from the throne. Erik followed him out of the room, smirking, feeling extremely pleased with himself at finally getting a rise out of T'Challa. 

The heavy doors swung shut behind them soundlessly, the noise dampened by the sound-absorbent properties of vibranium. T'Challa motioned for the Dora Milaje guards to leave. 

"Erik," T'Challa said, once they were alone. He sounded a touch exasperated, and that made Erik feel even more smug. "What's wrong?" 

Erik shrugged, showing no trace of how gleeful he was. "Nothing."

"You've been fidgeting for the last five minutes," T'Challa said. "You know, you don't have to sit in for meetings if you're bored. I know some alphas require their omegas to be by their side at all times, but I'm not one of them. I don't intend to keep you on a leash. If you're bored, you can just leave the room. Go out for a walk and stretch your legs - " 

"I'm not  _ bored," _ Erik cut in, annoyance beginning to burn within his chest. He didn't like the insinuation that he was fidgeting because he had nothing better to do, acting out like a  _ dog _ that needed to be walked. And the reminder of just how much power T'Challa had over him grated. T'Challa might have him on a long leash, but he was still leashed all the same. 

T'Challa folded his arms across his chest. "Then  _ behave." _

He hadn't used the Voice, but still, the snapped command hit Erik with the force of a whiplash. Erik's breath hitched.  _ Oh, Bast. _ Immediately, he ducked his head, instinctively cowering in the face of T'Challa's dominance. That ringing note of authority in the alpha's voice echoed through every nerve in his body, literally making his legs go weak. The biological urge to drop to his knees and bare his neck was so overwhelming that for a moment, the room spun about him. It took all of Erik's efforts merely to remain standing upright. 

The moment passed. The biological impulse faded back into the recesses of Erik's mind, leaving behind hot shame and fury. 

"Fuck you," Erik snarled. "Don't tell me what to do! Scared I'll make you look bad? Too bad. I'll do whatever the fuck I want -" 

His breath left his lungs in a gasp as T'Challa advanced upon him, his expression darkening.  _ Fuck. _ Erik was familiar with that look on T'Challa's face. He was about to get spanked.

Panic seized within Erik’s chest. Fight or flight? It wasn’t even a difficult choice. He would lose against T’Challa in a straight fight - Erik knew that from painful experience. He tried to leap back, but somehow T'Challa had already backed him up against the wall. Erik’s heart sank as his back made contact with the cold surface of the vibranium walls. There was nowhere to run. 

Even though he knew that it was a lost cause, Erik gritted his teeth, balled his hands into fists and lunged at T’Challa, fists up. But when he swung a fist at T’Challa, T’Challa simply seized hold of his wrist, taking hold of it in a grip bordering on painful, and somehow Erik found himself pressed flat against the wall, his wrists pinned above his head.

He struggled, testing at T'Challa's hold against him, but there was absolutely no give, and the more he struggled, the darker the look on T'Challa's face became. 

“Turn around and put your hands out. Brace yourself against the wall.”

“Here?” Erik looked around in disbelief. The corridor was deserted right now, but anyone could walk by at any minute. “Someone might see!”

“Now. Here. You'll do as I say, or suffer the consequences. This will go much worse for you if you don’t cooperate.” 

Erik had never heard T'Challa speak in this tone of voice to him before - cold, sharp and cutting. The sound of it made the omega in him quail. Why was T’Challa so angry at him this time? It wasn’t like he had never sassed T’Challa before. But until then, all of his fights with his alpha had been in private. Apparently that made all the difference.

Erik’s throat felt like it was closing up. It was getting difficult to breathe. He felt sick. The thought of someone coming by, of people watching him be publicly humiliated for something so inconsequential as arguing with his alpha was crushing. Tears of indignation pricked the edges of Erik's eyes at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don't.” Erik couldn’t remember the last time his voice had sounded like this, so breathless, so weak and shaky that he could barely make out his own words. “Not out here, T'Challa, please -  _ Alpha.  _ Please.”

He had never addressed T'Challa as  _ alpha _ before, never begged for T’Challa’s mercy like this. Erik's face burned with humiliation, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, unable to even look T'Challa in the eyes. 

At the sight of Erik’s obvious distress, the look on T'Challa's face softened somewhat. "Shh. It's all right. I'll stop if anyone gets too close. I'll be able to hear them coming, you know that. Now turn around."

Erik was frozen. He knew, intellectually, that the risk of anyone happening across them would only increase the longer he delayed, but he just couldn’t force himself to comply. 

T'Challa, evidently losing patience Erik still wasn't listening to him, took him by the shoulders and manhandled him around so that he was facing the wall. Erik let out a choked, horrified gasp as T'Challa leaned over him, forcing his palms flat against the wall. 

T'Challa's hand came to rest against the curve of Erik's ass. 

"No," Erik choked out, his voice soft and frightened. He had never been less aroused before in his life. 

There was a long pause. Then, from somewhere over his shoulder, T'Challa sighed. "We can finish this in private. But there will be consequences for this."

Erik seized onto that like a drowning man clasping onto a lifeline, the threat of more dire punishment completely outweighed by his relief at being offered a way out. “Yes! Yes, anything, whatever you want, just - just not out here."

The pressure on his wrists was abruptly lifted. Erik whipped around to face T'Challa, his cheeks flushed as he hastily smoothed his palms over the front of his robes. His heart was still pounding forcefully in panic at how narrowly he'd escaped this very public discipline. 

T'Challa stepped back from him. "Remember, you asked for it," he said. 


	7. Chapter 7

Erik was notably subdued after narrowly escaping punishment. It took quite a while for the panic to drain from his body and his breathing to even out. Now properly chastened, he sat through the rest of their council meeting without shifting or fidgeting, angry and sullen, keeping his lips firmly pressed together in a tight line. 

The rest of the council members certainly noticed Erik's change in attitude. Nobody remarked upon it, but the knowing glances were bad enough. Hot, bitter shame curled in the pit of Erik's stomach. He pointedly avoided making eye contact with any of them or with T'Challa himself, choosing to fixate his glare on the clock on the far wall instead. 

The seconds ticked by with agonising slowness. Erik normally considered himself a patient man - he had toiled for ten long years to put his original plan into action, but this long, tortuous wait, this counting down of the seconds, was a punishment all on its own. A large part of him desperately wanted this interminably long meeting to just be over as soon as possible, so that T'Challa could discipline him and get it over with. He hadn't noticed it until now, but thinking back, T'Challa had never made him wait for a punishment before. Discipline had always been immediate and inevitable, but with the saving grace that it had always been over swiftly. T'Challa never dragged things out. Being made to wait for it was an entirely new experience, one which Erik was now learning that he absolutely loathed. 

Erik gritted his teeth, his thoughts preoccupied with wild imaginings of just what exactly T'Challa was going to do later. It wasn't that he was  _ afraid _ of what would happen, exactly. Knowing T'Challa, it was unlikely to be anything more severe than a spanking. It would hurt briefly, and then it would be over. But worse than the pain was the humiliation of it all - being punished for his misbehaviour with the knowledge and approval of those fucking busybodies on the council; being overpowered by T'Challa and made to submit, made to take it. 

And the very worst thing of all was how much he was going to like it. 

_ Fuck _ his traitorous omega body. Erik squirmed miserably in his seat, his face heating up at that thought. 

T'Challa flicked his gaze over in Erik’s direction, and Erik froze. 

This meeting couldn't end fast enough. 

* * *

Erik heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the door to their room shut behind them. He wasn’t looking forward to what would happen next, but at least that miserable wait was over.

Apparently he hadn’t been quiet enough, because T'Challa's eyes glinted with amusement, even though he still wore a stern expression on his face. 

“Get on the bed,” T’Challa said.

Erik bristled at the command. Intellectually, he knew that complying would save him some hurt, but even at this stage, he was  _ not  _ going to just bend over and take it. His pride wouldn’t allow that to happen.

But when Erik looked over at the bed, he saw a large package sitting near the edge of the mattress - a giant box sleekly wrapped in black wrapping paper, which gleamed with a silvery sheen when the light hit it at the right angle.

Erik blinked, momentarily distracted from his predicament. "What's that?"

“Ah? It seems our delivery arrived just in time,” T’Challa said, smiling slightly. The dark pleasure in T‘Challa’s voice sent a frisson up Erik’s spine, and he barely managed to suppress a shiver as T’Challa walked past him and picked up the package. 

T'Challa worked at the ribbon ties with deft fingers, patiently working out the knot. But even before he opened the lid of the package, Erik already knew what it was going to contain. Of course - the omega sex toys that T'Challa had been shopping for earlier in the morning. Erik hadn't expected them to be delivered so soon, but he ought to have known that the king of Wakanda could afford same-day delivery. 

To Erik's surprise, T'Challa didn't unpack his new purchases. After glancing inside the box, he simply shut the lid again, then set the box of toys aside before turning back to face Erik. 

Erik winced. He knew what was coming. He had been dreading this all afternoon. 

"Sit down," T'Challa repeated. "And look at me."

Sullenly, Erik complied this time.  _ At least the wait was now over,  _ he thought. He tensed his muscles, bracing himself in anticipation of a fight. Even though he already knew he was going to lose, he was determined to give as good as he got before T’Challa bent him over and laid into his ass.

But T’Challa surprised him yet again. He sat down on the bed as well, at a comfortable distance away from Erik. 

Erik blinked.

“I think we should talk first,” T’Challa said.

Erik groaned aloud, all the pent-up stress and frustration of the entire day leaving him in a furious exhale of breath. “Bast, can you just skip the  _ fucking  _ lecture? Just - just get to it.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” T’Challa said. “This isn’t going to be a lecture. I did mean that we should talk. Earlier, in the hallway - ” 

Erik broke eye contact, his cheeks beginning to heat up. The reminder of how narrowly he’d escaped being punished in public - no. That hadn’t been an escape. T’Challa had taken mercy on him, after he had begged T’Challa to stop. Erik squirmed miserably. All he wanted was to push the memory of his complete humiliation, but T’Challa just had to bring it up for Bast knew what reason.

“It’s all right,” T’Challa continued, in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. “You can set your mind at ease. It’s not going to happen again.”

Whatever Erik had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. He just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping.

T’Challa continued, “I understand your aversion to being disciplined in public, and I won’t threaten you with that again.”

As Erik was still processing that, T’Challa shifted, moving closer to him. Erik inhaled sharply, but T’Challa stopped when he was just less than a metre away. The distance between them lingered, charged with tension.

“Oh - okay,” Erik muttered, confused and more than a little taken aback. It was inconceivable that the alpha wouldn’t seize on any means necessary, exploit any of his weaknesses in order to bring him to heel. It was what Erik would have done, had he been the alpha and T'Challa the omega. Now that T'Challa knew one of his deepest fears, why would he so readily give up this weapon in his arsenal? 

“But,” T’Challa said.

Erik groaned again. Of course he should have known that there would be a caveat. 

"But that doesn't mean you won't be punished," T'Challa said. "I warned you earlier there would be consequences." The word hung in the air, dark and ominous. Erik scowled down at the floor. 

"I‘ve given you quite a bit more leeway than a lot of other alphas would give their omegas. In  _ private. _ But your behaviour in public will have repercussions on both of us. I've shielded you from the worst of it so far, but you should know that it was an uphill battle to convince the council to allow me to be your guardian. There are many forces, many factions at work in the Wakandan court, and you made a lot of powerful enemies during your reign as king, enemies who would be very happy to see you executed. Not exiled -  _ executed.  _ One of the conditions of your release into my guardianship was that I demonstrate my capability to keep you in line. 

“I don’t intend to keep you sequestered in the royal quarters. You should be free to move about as you wish, but know that each time you challenge me in public, you chip away at my authority - and your own chances of living a free and happy life in Wakanda.”

Erik had rarely seen T’Challa look quite so serious before. He was on the verge of an angry outburst, but for some reason, the look in T’Challa’s eyes made him wisely decide to keep his mouth shut.

T’Challa’s voice softened. “Think about it. If the rest of the court truly believes that you are beyond alpha control, what do you think they will do to you? Even my protection can only go so far.”

Erik remained quiet, absorbing this disconcerting revelation. He hadn’t realised just how precarious T’Challa’s position in court was. But come to think of it, a lot of the councillors  _ had  _ been surprisingly eager to follow Erik in the beginning. There must have been simmering discontent in the ranks for quite a while, even before he had arrived. 

“You can speak your mind,” T’Challa prompted.

“This is -” Erik stopped, then began again, struggling to keep the anger and bitterness out of his voice. “It’s hard for me.”

He could read between the lines of what T’Challa was saying. T’Challa was putting it gently, but this was him laying down the law. Erik was basically T’Challa’s bitch in the eyes of Wakanda, and if he stepped out of line again in public, he would pay. His life and freedom were on the line, and T'Challa wasn't going to take risks with that. 

“It’ll get easier, in time,” T’Challa said gently. "I will try to manage the council’s demands and get them to adjust their expectations accordingly. Besides, it’s quite normal for an omega to test the boundaries when still settling in with a new alpha, to learn how much defiance will be tolerated and where to draw the line. Some allowances will be made if they believe you were acting in your nature. And like I said, you don’t have to come for the council meetings if you don’t want to. Dealing with them is my job, not yours.”

Erik shrugged, noncommittal. 

"Good," T’Challa said. 

Then he leaned forward and wrapped Erik in an embrace - his arms around Erik's shoulders, his warm, large palm patting Erik gently on the back. 

"Hey!" Erik protested. He struggled against the hug, his face burning. But the next moment, T'Challa had already let go.

Erik breathed in deeply, trying to gather his composure again and to convince himself that he had  _ not _ liked that one bit. No, he hadn't liked having the alpha's strong arms around him at all. He shoved the niggling feeling of disappointment to the back of his mind. 

T'Challa stood up and walked towards the package of toys that he had set aside earlier. “One more thing left.”

Erik's heart sank.  _ The punishment. Right. _

"T'Challa…" he complained. He was aware that he was being whiny, but that was the least of his worries right now. “Seriously?”

"Stand up and bend over the side of the bed," T'Challa said. 

Erik knew he wasn't getting out of this when T'Challa took out a paddle from the package. It was made of black leather, flat and rounded at the business end in the shape of a ping-pong paddle. And it looked to be at least twice as broad as T'Challa's palm. At the sight of it, Erik’s mouth went dry. 

"I'll go easier on you if you cooperate," T'Challa said. "Now bend over."

He smacked the paddle casually against his palm. The sound of leather cracking against skin made Erik flinch despite himself. 

Furious at his momentary slip in control, Erik bared his teeth and scowled. "No!" 

"The hard way, then." 

Three strides, and T’Challa was next to Erik before Erik even had time to blink, thanks to the unfair advantage of the heart-shaped herb. This time there wasn’t even a scuffle. T’Challa took hold of him by the shoulder and easily manhandled a struggling Erik, spinning him about and then bending him over the bed. 

T'Challa's grip on Erik’s shoulder tightened, forcing his torso to lower and his back to arch so that his ass was sticking out. The pad of his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin over Erik’s bonding gland, and Erik whined, his knees going weak. 

He tightened his fingers into the sheets, but barely struggled as T’Challa slid a pillow under Erik’s hips, keeping them raised. The position was humiliating but not uncomfortable, and the similarity to the traditional mounting position - bent over with his back arched to show off his ass, presenting for his alpha - had his body reacting on instinct, stimulating the production of slick and omega hormones. Erik whimpered. 

_ Why fight back? _ Erik thought dizzily, drunk on the scent of alpha dominance pheromones saturating the air. T’Challa was going to win anyway. Make him submit. Better to go along with it. His skin tingled with anticipation goosebumps raising along the surface of his arms, his thighs, his ass. When T'Challa drew the hem of his thin silk robe up over the curves of his ass, Erik squirmed, feeling horribly exposed, embarrassed but oh so achingly wet. 

He didn't try to get away even when T'Challa removed his hand from Erik's shoulder. Erik remained still, even arching his back a bit more as T'Challa began to squeeze and knead at the exposed cheeks of his ass. 

"Warming up," T'Challa said by way of explanation. A light slap followed that pronouncement, and Erik's mouth fell open in a low moan as tingling heat suffused his skin, a light pleasurable sting that had him pushing out his ass for more. "You'll need it before the paddle. It's going to hurt."

This was followed by one more slap, to Erik’s other ass cheek this time. Erik’s breath hitched. He had never been paddled before, but he had a distinct impression that it was going to be a lot more painful than being spanked with T’Challa’s hand. 

Another squeeze, another flurry of light smacks on the meatiest part of his ass, another round of rubbing and stroking. Erik’s lips parted in a moan. Drool was pooling in the inside of his mouth, and his thoughts felt like they were turning to mush. All the neurons in his mind were concentrated on the incredible sensations in his ass. 

“Alpha.” The word came out soft and slurred, so breathy that Erik almost couldn’t recognise his own voice. “Alpha, please - I want -”

Erik wasn’t even sure what it was that he was begging for. It was somewhat of a cold shock when T’Challa’s warm hands left him. Before Erik could stop himself, he let out a needy whine, one which was abruptly cut off as T’Challa tapped the broad, flat surface of the paddle against the curve of his buttocks. 

Against the incredible sensation of T'Challa's warm hands on his ass, the paddle felt cold and unforgiving. Unpleasant. It was large enough to cover most of his ass cheek, just the right size to tenderize and punish him. Erik's heart rate spiked. 

He braced himself, almost breathless with anxiety and lust, as T'Challa drew the paddle back. 

The next moment, the paddle came down on Erik's ass  _ hard, _ a clap of leather against bare skin that cracked loudly through the air. His ass cheeks wobbled from the force of the impact, and Erik gasped out loud at the sudden stinging pain and heat radiating through his ass, a hot, throbbing ache that was so much more intense than the pleasant warmth from earlier. 

Shocked out of the fog of lust clouding his mind, Erik cursed loudly. "Ow!  _ Fuck!"  _

His fingers twisted, and he clenched his ass in a futile effort at blocking out the pain. When he made an aborted movement to twist about and reach back to cover his backside, T’Challa’s palm came down forcefully on the small of his lower back, keeping him trapped in position.

“Stop squirming," T'Challa warned him. "And don’t clench. If you keep your cheeks taut, you're going to bruise."

"Ah!  _ Fuck!"  _

Erik swore again as he was spanked hard, low on his ass this time right across his sit spots. The force of the swat lifted him up onto his toes.  _ Fuck! _ T’Challa really was serious about this. Erik didn’t dare to disobey T’Challa, not when he was in such a vulnerable position, but it took every ounce of his self-control to force himself to relax instead of instinctively tense up. 

The next swat of the paddle was no less unforgiving than the ones before it, but keeping his ass relaxed and pliant seemed to intensify the sting of it at least twofold. When Erik wasn't clenching, his ass cheeks bounced in a most humiliating manner under the impact of the paddle, and it almost felt as if he were offering himself up to be punished. He bucked his hips forward into the pillow on a futile effort to escape the next swat, but the next stinging blow of the paddle landed with unerring accuracy against his exposed and defenceless ass. Left, right, left, right, the blows fell, as rhythmic as an army march even while Erik yelped, twisting and squirming in a futile effort to get away from the relentless blows of the paddle. 

But even as the sting in his ass built, desire unfurled within him, a hot pulse in his cock that throbbed in tandem with the throbbing pain in his ass. Pain melted to pleasure until he couldn't even tell which was which. The scent of slick and desperation filled the air, along with the sound of Erik's ragged breaths as T'Challa tore his ass up, giving him the hardest spanking of his life. 

Erik was panting hard and on the verge of tears when the spanking finally ceased. He whimpered, still dazed from the intensity of the paddling, just barely managing to choke down a sob. How many swats had that been? More than ten, definitely. Probably less than thirty. His entire ass felt swollen. He wondered how it must look now - reddened, or dark with bruises? 

The paddle remained still against his ass for several heartbeats, the original cold leather surface of it now almost as blazingly warm as his ass. Then T’Challa began to stroke his sore skin with it, rubbing in gentle circles over the most tender spots, tapping lightly where he seemed to be the most bruised. The soft leather of the paddle caressed him gently, that instrument of torture now transformed into one of pleasure. Erik’s knees shook. If he hadn’t already been bent over a surface, he wasn’t sure he could have held himself upright. He reached beneath himself, desperate to get some friction against his cock, but T’Challa pinned his wrist to the bed, preventing him from touching himself.

“’Challa,” Erik begged, spreading his legs and lifting his hips invitingly. All he knew was that if he didn’t get his alpha in him  _ right now, _ he’d die. “T’Challa, please -”

When T’Challa sank his fingers into Erik’s slick, clenching hole a moment later, Erik came so hard that he saw stars.


	8. Chapter 8

Of course T'Challa didn't stop then. Omegas were able to have multiple orgasms, and even though Erik was already whimpering from overstimulation, T'Challa continued to finger him open before proceeding to fuck Erik.

His desire temporarily sated, Erik lay pliant and breathless under T'Challa, squirming a little as T'Challa's cock slid into him, past the slick, loosened ring of muscles, until he was fully sheathed within Erik's ass. 

_ Bast.  _ T'Challa's cock was deliciously long and thick, so much better than his fingers. He fucked into Erik at just the right angle to hit Erik's prostate and have him seeing stars. T'Challa tightened his fingers into the side of Erik's hips and began to pound into his sore ass, drawing a little hiss from Erik on each inward thrust. 

T'Challa wasn't being gentle this time, fucking Erik hard enough that each thrust of his groin against Erik's tender ass felt like he was being spanked all over again. But the rough treatment was exactly what the omega in him wanted, and Erik was writhing in pleasure as the alpha ground his cock deep into his body, setting off sparks of pain and pleasure inside and out. 

Erik was already oversensitive from the spanking and his first orgasm, and he came again in an embarrassingly short amount of time, howling his muffled pleasure into the bedsheets as T'Challa cornrinued to fuck him ruthlessly through it. T'Challa finally knotted in him a moment later. His fingers dug into the side of Erik's hips again, keeping Erik firmly in place on his cock as his knot began to expand with bruising force, knocking the air out of Erik's lungs. Automatically, Erik clenched down as his insides rippled around T'Challa's knot, milking the come dry from his cock with each hard squeeze.

It took Erik a few moments to catch his breath again. Pleasantly sated and enjoying the feeling of being stuffed full of his alpha's cock, Erik offered no resistance as T'Challa shifted them so that he was sitting on the bed and Erik sitting on his lap. T'Challa's knot shifted within him with their movements, too tightly locked to slip out of his hole. It was a strange but not unpleasant sensation, but Erik inhaled sharply as his tender ass made contact with the tops of T'Challa's thighs. 

He leaned back against T'Challa's chest, biting his lip as the knot adjusted within him with every movement. It was difficult to get comfortable when he was so aware of just how sore he was, inside and out. 

T'Challa's lips brushed against the side of his cheek. Erik grumbled a little under his breath, but otherwise didn't protest. 

"Are you going to behave now?" T'Challa murmured against his ear. 

The message was clear: Behave, and be rewarded. Misbehave, and be punished. 

Erik's ass throbbed with the reminder of the paddling. He shifted irritably in T'Challa's lap, but only succeeded in putting extra weight on a particularly tender spot. Erik sucked in a sharp breath at the sting, and the vibration from T'Challa's answering chuckle reverberated against his back.

\--

_ Several weeks later _

It wasn't that Erik had had a change of heart, exactly. It was simply…easier, not to oppose T'Challa at every turn. To go along with the flow and accept whatever his  _ very _ indulgent, very attentive alpha offered. After all, it was only sex, Erik told himself. He had had plenty of fun meaningless sex before, and this was no different. That was all it was. Just very meaningless, very enjoyable sex with a handsome alpha. Any omega would be a fool to turn that down. And it wasn’t like he was  _ submitting  _ to T’Challa. He was just making use of the alpha, waiting for the right opportunity to stab T'Challa in the back when the time was right. 

In the meantime, there was no reason why Erik couldn’t enjoy himself. 

Darkness, velvety soft and black, settled over Erik’s eyes. A warm embrace of nothingness. 

Erik blinked, but the black veil over his eyes blocked out his vision. He was almost, but not entirely blinded. Around the edges of the blindfold, he could see a thin strip of light, and part of the bridge of his own nose, but nothing significant at all of his surroundings. 

He twisted, testing at his restraints - the silk ties around his wrists and ankles, binding him spread-eagled and face down to their bed, with his hips propped up by two pillows. The ties were made of silk thread with a vibranium weave, strong enough that even T’Challa would have difficulty breaking out of them, but soft enough that the material wouldn't cut painfully into his skin even if he struggled. 

Erik shivered, then lay still. With the loss of the most important of his senses, he felt incredibly vulnerable. All the sensations in his body felt magnified a hundredfold - the whisper of silk against his skin; the scent of alpha arousal in the air, triggering an answering increase of slick in his hole; the heavy, even sound of T’Challa’s footsteps, moving around the room. 

_ What was T’Challa doing?  _

Erik's breathing sped up as he sensed the alpha drawing close. He knew, intellectually, that he didn't have anything to fear, but being defensive was in Erik's nature. Instincts beaten into him throughout a lifetime of fending for himself were hard to shake. Erik reminded himself that it wasn’t like he had any  _ choice  _ about submitting to T’Challa, and somehow, that thought made him calm down, as fucked up as it was. The omega side of him loved nothing more than submitting to his alpha during sex.

The blindfold had been T'Challa's idea, and the restraints as well. Those were just the latest of the many, many sex toys that they were in the process of testing out. Erik had made only token protests about most of the toys - toys such as the high-tech vibrators (calibrated to automatically take into account and respond to Erik's bodily reactions), the butt plugs (molded in the exact shape of T’Challa’s knot), and the jewelled anal beads (one glance had told Erik that they probably cost more than an average person could earn in a year). All of which Erik had ended up vocally enjoying. Despite this, he had still been wary about letting T'Challa use the blindfold and the restraints. Those, he had protested vigorously. They represented a loss of control and autonomy that Erik was frankly terrified of, even if he was just to his guardian alpha.

But T'Challa had managed to talk him into it in the end. 

Erik shuddered again. “T’Challa,” he called out. With his face pressed into the mattress, the word was muffled, but he was sure that T'Challa's herb-enhanced senses would have no difficulty picking it up. "What are you -  _ ohhh."  _

Something came down on his ass, covering most of his right ass cheek. T’Challa’s palm. Erik jerked, then tensed as T'Challa began to stroke him, skimming his hand lightly over Erik's skin. With the loss of his sight, the sensation of that light touch felt shockingly intense, and goosebumps rose on Erik’s skin as his entire world narrowed down to the sensation of T'Challa's hand cupping and stroking at his ass. 

Erik exhaled slowly, relaxing in his bonds as T'Challa continued to lazily pet and stroke him. The tips of T'Challa's perfectly manicured fingernails scraped against Erik's skin, sending a shudder up his spine. It felt  _ good. _ Unconsciously, the beginnings of a purr began to rumble within Erik's chest. He stretched lazily across the bed, as much as the bonds would allow. 

But  _ nice _ wasn't what Erik wanted.

Impatiently, Erik shifted his legs further apart, arching his back to show off his ass in obscene invitation, thrusting his ass back into T'Challa's hand. Although he couldn't see, he knew without a doubt that T'Challa was smiling. 

T'Challa's hand came down on his ass again, in a light slap this time. Erik gasped and tensed at the unexpected shock of stinging pain. It quickly faded into a tingling warmth that spread across the surface of his skin. 

Another smack, light and playful, landed on his left ass cheek. Erik moaned, squirming in his bonds. The scent of omega arousal hung heavy in the air. 

“Ready?”

Erik made a soft, wordless noise of assent. He was so ready.

But instead of the cock which Erik had been expecting, something large and unyielding pushed into his ass. Surprised, Erik tensed around it, even as his body reacted to the intrusion by instinctively producing more slick to ease the entry of the object. 

It was much the same size and girth as T’Challa’s cock, except it was slightly colder than body temperature, and very obviously not organic. One of T’Challa’s new sex toys. Was it made of silicone? Or some sort of vibranium alloy? Erik couldn’t tell. The object was ridged along its length as well, and Erik whimpered at the foreign sensation of the bumps and ribs sliding against his inner walls. He flexed experimentally around it, clenching his ass as T’Challa thrust it ever deeper into him. Was this the dildo from yesterday? Somehow it didn’t feel the same.

T’Challa continued to push the toy into his ass, working it in with shallow thrusts, inch by inexorable inch. Erik's breath hitched as his hole stretched around the toy. He had never taken anything quite so long and irregularly shaped in his ass before. It felt strange, but not in an unpleasant way - just a completely foreign sensation that had the hairs on the back of his arms standing on end. 

When the flared, thickened base of the toy finally hit his ass cheeks, Erik was panting hard from the effort of trying to relax around it. The dildo was at least several inches longer than T'Challa's cock, and T'Challa himself was already packing. Erik clenched around the intrusion again, and the ridges on the toy pressed oddly up against his inner walls in a way which made him feel like he was being massaged from the inside. He could feel every inch of it rubbing against his insides. Erik squirmed, frowning into the darkness. 

T'Challa began to fuck the toy leisurely in and out of him, thrusting it in him at just the right angle to make it rub against his prostate. More slick gushed within him, around the toy, and Erik shifted his legs further apart, gasping as it forced his inner walls wider apart. T'Challa continued to work him loose with steady thrusts, occasionally twisting the toy in a way that made Erik yelp in a completely undignified manner. 

But he was getting used to it now as his hole adjusted to accommodate the stretch. Erik wriggled against the restraints again, letting out a whine. “I thought  _ you _ were going to fuck me,” he complained. "Not just a fucking toy." 

T'Challa laughed. Then suddenly, the dildo in his ass began to vibrate. 

Erik cried out in shock, tensing against the restraints. Every nerve in his body seemed to light up at once as if he had been shocked with an electric charge. Wave after wave of vibrations pulsed through him. They were irregular but surprisingly strong, shocking him in a completely unpredictable rhythm which made everything feel so much more intense. 

Erik yelled, muffled, into the bedsheets. "What the fuck? - Oh,  _ fuck!"  _

Without warning, T'Challa increased the vibration of the dildo, ratcheting it up yet another notch. Erik yowled, his fingers clenching his toes curling as he drummed his feet against the top of the mattress. The restraints didn't give, and squirming just made the broad, ridged end of the dildo rub up against his prostate, making him see stars. He whined, tears beginning to burn in the corners of his eyes. 

"Keep that in you," T'Challa directed. "Or you'll regret it."

To emphasise his point, T’Challa slapped Erik on the ass, hard and low across his ass cheeks. His ass jiggled under the force of the spank and Erik jerked, instinctively clenching around the dildo. Tightening around the vibrating toy made pleasure flare within him again, hot and almost unbearably bright. The tingling ache left behind in the wake of that slap throbbed in time with the vibrations of the dildo in his ass. 

T’Challa released his grip on the dildo. Without the force of his hand keeping it in, Erik’s instinctive reaction was to try and push out the intruding,  _ vibrating _ object, but the fear of his alpha’s displeasure made him fight the urge down. Erik whimpered. Obediently, he tightened around the toy again, and the ensuing wave of vibrations stimulated a fresh wave of squirming that drove him ever closer to the edge. His cock was now rock hard and leaking against the bedsheets. 

_ Oh, Bast.  _ T’Challa was setting him up to fail. There was no way he could keep the dildo in for more than a few minutes without breaking down and begging T’Challa to take it out.

“How - for how long?” Erik managed to gasp out.

He could hear the smirk in T’Challa’s words. “Until I say it’s enough.”

* * *

Erik sobbed. 

There was a spreading patch of dampness on the bed beneath his cock. His thighs were quivering and his muscles felt like jelly. His ass was a hot, aching burn of pain, sore inside and out, a sting which intensified each time he forced himself to clench down on the vibrating dildo. But the pain was a distant distraction. All of his attention was focused on keeping that damned toy within himself. 

He wasn’t succeeding.

He had let the vibrator slide out of his ass twice already. Once when he had orgasmed so hard that he lost all conscious control over his muscles, and the second time when he had deliberately let it slip out when the stimulation from the vibrations had become too much to bear. Both times, T’Challa had made him regret it. Despite Erik's squirming, T’Challa had forced the dildo back into him, then spanked him so hard that Erik had been left breathless and whimpering. Each slap reverberated through his ass, intensifying the sensation caused by the vibrations until Erik was yowling and begging wordlessly for mercy. 

Erik gritted his teeth as his body was wracked by a new wave of arrhythmic vibrations. He whined, a high-pitched needy sound, and clenched his hands into fists so tightly that his fingernails cut into the soft skin of his palms. He clenched down hard around it, whimpering as the ribs along the shaft nudged against the oversensitive walls of his channel. 

The scent of alpha pheromones filled Erik’s nostrils, a familiar spicy musk that electrified his nerves. 

_ T’Challa. _

At some point in time, he must have entered the bedroom again while Erik had been too preoccupied with the vibrator to notice. Erik's body instinctively reacted to the presence of an aroused alpha nearby. His heart rate spiked and more slick gushed from between his legs, around the toy in his ass. A fresh wave of need wracked Erik’s body. He squirmed, lifting his hips and arching his back as he heard the sound of the alpha's footsteps approaching. 

T'Challa was so close now. So very close. 

A frisson of anticipation ran up Erik's spine. Erik panted against the sheets, shifting his hips so that he could get more friction on his cock to distract himself from the vibrations in his ass. He desperately wanted to rub himself off right now, but his hands were still bound. Despite the silk material, the restraints were beginning to chafe against his wrists, and holding the position was starting to feel uncomfortable. His biceps were already aching, and his thighs were shaking under the strain from keeping his internal muscles clenched while being restrained in a spread-eagle position.

A hand came down on the back of his head, caressing him lightly. The touch of T'Challa's hand against his heated skin was like water to a starving man in a desert, cool and soothing. Even though Erik knew that T'Challa was the source of his torment, he couldn't help but lean in towards the comforting touch, lifting his head as much as the restraints would allow to try and get closer to T'Challa. 

T'Challa's hand moved lower, stroking small circles on his back this time. At the same time, a fresh wave of vibrations racked Erik's oversensitive body. 

Erik cried out, tensing and jerking in the restraints. The smell of alpha arousal was overpowering now, driving him wild with lust. It was unbearable. 

He couldn't take another orgasm. His dick was going to break. Erik groaned in frustration. “Enough,” he said, his voice hoarse and broken. He let out a frustrated hiss of air through clenched teeth. “Fuck. Just take it  _ out, _ damn it."

Without warning, T'Challa spanked him hard on the ass. Erik yelled, clenching down hard around the toy, his ass quivering under the force of the slap and the relentless, irregular vibrations. A pitiful whine escaped his lips.

"Just one more thing," T'Challa purred. "You can take it, I know you can."

Blessedly, the vibrations  _ finally  _ stopped - T'Challa had turned off the vibrator at last. But Erik only had a moment’s reprieve before he suddenly sensed the base of it expanding within him, forcing his inner walls apart just like an alpha’s knot. 

Erik's eyes widened behind the blindfold as the pressure within him built. He could feel every ridge and bump on the dildo brushing up against his inner walls.

Erik wriggled in discomfort. “It’s too big!” he protested.

“Breathe,” T’Challa said. “It’s not that much bigger than a regular knot.” 

That wasn’t exactly comforting. But T’Challa stroked Erik’s ass cheeks, fondling and soothing away the sting, and Erik tried desperately to do as he was told. His thighs trembled with the effort of trying to relax around the expanding dildo. The base of the toy was inflating much more slowly than a real alpha’s knot, and the consequence of it was that Erik could feel it expand within him but by bit, centimeter by centimeter, every bump along the shaft lighting up the nerves in his sore ass. 

"Oh - oh  _ fuck -" _ Erik moaned. 

He quivered with the effort of forcing himself to breathe and take it in, trembling as his hole stretched around the slowly expanding base of the toy. It burned, right on the knife's edge of pain and pleasure, and he was a shaking, whimpering mess by the time the inflatable knot on the dildo finally reached its maximum expansion. It felt as if someone had forced a baseball up his ass. It was so  _ big  _ and solid. Erik squirmed in discomfort, his hole spasming around the fake knot as he tried to catch his breath. 

"Good," T'Challa praised, his voice soft and approving. "I knew you could do it, love." 

Erik turned his head blindly towards the source of the voice, seeking out comfort. His ass throbbed around the huge knot. He was at the limit of his endurance. All he wanted to do was collapse into a puddle of exhaustion and curl up next to T'Challa. 

But - 

"Five more minutes," T'Challa said decisively. 

Erik's heart sank.  _ "Five more minutes?"  _

T'Challa tapped his finger on the base of the toy, sending a jolt through Erik's ass as it shifted deeper into him. Erik bit down hard on his bottom lip, just barely managing to hold back a yelp. He whimpered, tears of discomfort burning in his eyes as his ass quivered around the enormous knot. 

"T'Challa!" Erik protested. 

T'Challa swatted him again, one slap against each ass cheek. This time, Erik did yelp out loud. Pain throbbed through his ass, flush at the surface of his sore, tender skin, reverberating through his over-stretched insides stuffed full of the huge toy. 

"Five more minutes," T'Challa repeated. 

Erik buried his head in his forearms and gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut behind the blindfold. 


End file.
